It is dark and raining again, and for the first time in a long time, since the pandemic, and since everything else, the streets are quiet. No one is out. No one is working the corners. It is dark, all the shutters are down. Cars keep passing by through, slowly, driving past, and I wonder whether they are still trawling for sex tonight, whether they think even this weather — the weather that has traumatised the entire city — is no match for the ability of Karachi to continue dhanda. A chowkidar’s whistle sounds at night; ludicrous, really, for this neighbourhood where everything that is dangerous is always out on display. What are you warning against? Who is awake? We’re all awake.