The Atom Station by Halldór Laxness

I opened my eyes after a short sleep; a light still glowed dimly in the night lamp, and I looked around me overcome with deep boredom as if in a wilderness. Where was I? And who was this man? I crept out of bed and dressed silently. Was he asleep-or was he pretending to be asleep? The door was unlocked and I stole away down the stairs with my case in my hand, and did not put on my shoes until I reached the outside door; and I walked on to the empty street in the cold morning breeze, while the town still slept.

The street lights took the place of stars, except that they brought no message from the depths of the heavens; this was a world without depths, and I was alone-so alone that even that other persona of the self, the one that stirs shame and regret, had abandoned me; I was dull, and everything was flat: a person without context, or to be more exact, a woman without existence.