This city will wash away, long after you and I are gone. And there will be books in the water, then, and stone work from 1905 floating out into the Atlantic, with squirrel bones, and coffee cups from two hundred diners. Then they'll find pint glasses also, with broken water towers sitting in the silt, lost out into the bay, and bicycles, and interesting shoes, all under the cold dark water.
And there will be lots of questions, in a new language, about what must've happened here and about all of these streets and doorways. Then they will try to figure out your story too. They will talk about what your days were like. And they will try to imagine, even, how tonight you got undressed, pulled back the covers, and finally crawled into bed..