In summer the ferry is full. People stand between the seats and nobody can see the water. In winter it is different. I take the last boat, and there are only nine or ten of us. The tea seller walks past with his tray. The glasses make a small sound when the boat turns. An old man sits by the window with his newspaper, but he does not read it. He watches the city instead. The gulls follow us. Someone throws a piece of simit into the air and one bird catches it without stopping. Halfway across, the engine sound changes. The city on both sides looks the same distance away, and for two minutes I am not going anywhere. Then the other side comes closer. The lights become windows, and the windows become homes. I get off with the nine other people. Tomorrow I will take the same boat.