I’m really going to miss this place. I’m going to miss the balcony overlooking the tiny Old City street. I’m going to miss the coffee shop and the potato tortillas under glass. I’m going to miss my morning slice, a cup of coffee, my book, and standing at the counter in the afternoon light. I’m going to miss the solitude and being surrounded by lively old men with their eyeglasses and walking canes. I’m going to miss their wives, at the next table over, full-throated laughter and melanoid hair dye. I’m going to miss the old ramparts and the fort and the proximity to many important things: people, history, anonymity, possibility.

I’m going to miss it all — why am I even leaving?