One night I wandered into the Good Times Bar expecting noise and company, and found the lights on and every stool empty. Nobody. I didn't mind at all. That's when I noticed the pattern: the ruins were empty, the bar was empty, the far edges of the city were empty — and those were exactly the places I kept drifting toward. I walked the whole rim of Midnight City that night, every sleepy border plaza, and skipped only the sharp northern corner where the dangerous things gather. Smart, for once in my life.