I started working at night to avoid meeting the islanders while I gathered my thoughts around my anger.

The soundscape was different, and I relied on my headlamp to find my path. The placement of garden furniture, fences, ponds and trees were all etched into my memory. Without all the conversation and distraction, post rounds turned out to take only three to four hours a night. 

It took no time to fall into the new routine. In the evenings I’d be at the hotel to hang out with the workers, the cleaners and the dishwashers, the beach guards, the daytime reception workers, and supermarket staff who all lived there. The islanders thought nothing of them, and kept them carefully separate from their perfectly quiet lives. 

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