They didn't have taxis. The air hung foetid and steaming as I stumbled along the cracked, deserted sidewalks. Occasionally, dimly lit figures would appear in doorways or silhouetted in windows, but brief, elusive as hallucinations. I saw the red cherry of a cigarette swing in a slow arc deep in the darkness of a decaying porch, and I hailed the smoker "good evening", but the red spark tumbled to the floor and disappeared. I heard the squeak and smack of a screendoor as the invisible figure entered its dwelling. I heard laughter from ahead, then saw two figures walking, their heads bent together in a shared joke, then staggering apart as they laughed. They appoached unwarily, then straightened as they took in my approach. Silent now, they crossed the street, disappearing into the shadow of trees and overgrown shrubs. I steered toward a distant light, a street light, and as I approached I heard the faint and blurred echoing of an amplified voice. The street became illuminated by the cold, blue artificial light, the voice almost decipherable.

And he shall come, the Traveller, who knows not what he is seeking, or if he even stumble across it, that the thing he seeks is there before his eyes. For he is lost on the shore of the night

And now, the street opened into a kind of courtyard, and I saw the source of the voice... three figures stood in the center of this white-shining illuminated concrete space. They stood peering in my direction, as if indeed I were that traveller described. I stood, hesitating, and one of the figures who held a megaphone continued

Why fear you the word of the Lord? Why dwell you in the darkness when you stand on the edge of the light

I approached the trio. The Preacher was a middle-aged black woman, dressed incongruously in a pink halter top and jogging pants. To her left was a shabby character holding a paper-bagged wine bottle, and shifting his weight uncertainly from foot to foot. The third character I at first took to be a child, but on closer inspection discovered to be a legless man, his bottom half strapped to a kind of sled on wheels. The preacher lowered her megaphone and looked at me sternly. "You seeking salvation?"

"No," I answered. "I'm looking for the Mousetrap Bar."

"The Rat Trap you mean. The soul trap." I steeled myself for a sermon, but she surprised me, saying "you just go up two streets, then left a block and a half." I gave a hasty thanks, and moved to the edge of lit square. As I adjusted my eyes to the darkness again, the voice continued its narrative

And he will seek and seek the key to the lock, turning over rocks and poking in the garbage for it, and he would kill and die for it, and it is in his pocket all the time

By the time I turned the corner, the voice had again subsided to an echoing babble, like an incoherent sound-track to a movie called Algiers.