Waking up in another time zone, a strange light seeps through the gap in the hotel curtains. Sometimes I feel my world is made of countless such 'gaps'—the gap between the airport lounge and the side of the stage, between the roar of the crowd and the silence, between Nolan and 'me'. Today, I suddenly want to close one of these gaps: to go to that noodle shop downstairs that only ever serves local regulars, order the simplest bowl of plain noodles, and be a nameless, ordinary customer. (Hoping the security team can be 'negligent' for five minutes today.)