When the World Used to End at Night
There was a time when, after ten at night, the world became small. The newspaper had already been read, the television had gone quiet, and the people you knew had returned to their own homes. Unless somebody came to your door or the telephone rang, there was no particular reason to know what anyone else was doing. A man might have fifty acquaintances in the city, but at eleven at night only the people under his roof remained. The others had, for all practical purposes, ceased to exist until morning. Perhaps we did not think of this as solitude then. Things which are freely available are rarely considered valuable. I remember nights when there was really nothing to do. You could put on some music, lie down and stare at the ceiling. The fan sometimes made a small clicking sound. A dog barked somewhere in the lane, a scooter passed, and then the road became quiet again. After that, one had to make do with one's own thoughts. It sounds almost unbearably empty now, but I am beginning to...