It is a common sensation in the city of Maarsten to find oneself at a far point on one side or the other of the city, some distance from the bridge, and something on the other side catches your eye- a young girl fetching water, a butcher in an argument at the marketplace, another stroller like yourself. But the walk is long and the thought of going all the way to the bridge only to cross and find yourself in earshot of where you started feels too arduous. So you stay on one side.
Occasionally drunks will cast themselves into the waters, grasping in despair of some young lady strolling along the opposite side, only to die of pneumonia weeks later. The women gossip and say that these men had died shamefully, but the truth is that they had finally lived.