I am rewriting the story. The nth time. A story about me and the horse with a broken foot, a story about the lizard on my walls, a story about a professor in a film who was writing a curriculum of darkness, a story about me and arrivals and departures. This is my apocalypse story. In the beginning, there was a horse with a broken foot under a flyover. At night, the cold white light installed as part of the city’s scheme to light up the streets made the horse more pronounced. In that concrete dystopian landscape, the horse stood motionless.