Place record · #606
Stone steps descend from the market street to a river quay slick with reflected lantern light. Narrow wooden boats are tied two and three deep along the edge, some with curved roofs, some open to the night. Boatkeepers sit on low stools drinking tea, talking among themselves, and calling out prices or destinations in a language that somehow remains comprehensible at the level of intention rather than words. The river is broad and slow. Lanterns float downstream in loose clusters, each carrying a tiny candle protected beneath paper. Buildings along both banks rise in layered balconies and rooflines, their lights broken by dark alleys and small gardens. Boats leave for the opposite bank, the pedestrian bridge lies upstream, and a quieter landing serves craft heading downstream, but these are ordinary local traffic rather than coded onward routes in this map. The quay itself is the destination and all such movement returns to or departs from it without creating another mapped branch. One old boatkeeper points toward the water, then toward the sky, and laughs as if the joke should be obvious. Looking down, the reflected moon is full. Looking up, there is no moon at all.
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