May 12, Jacksonville. We weren’t here a year ago, we were at the Grand Canyon, but three weeks later we were here. We sit in the sound of waves on the balcony, in the glow of the desk lamp that stands on the concrete floor, because we know there is no light on these balconies and we don’t need to search for it. Fifth floor. I can’t rest until I identify the stars. I know where clouds are because stars that should be there are missing. The brightest lights are those of the container ships on the horizon.