I take comfort in the bumble of the little engine beside the roadside kebab stand. On it goes, day in and day out. Generating light, heat; a sense of identity for someone, space in the belly for many. The smoke from the griddletop streams out of the side of the truck and into the humid night. The sweat on my forehead is dry. I look up the road, spots of light above a couple, falafel wrap in hand, hoping to see someone coming towards us, no one does.
