There was a small door in the middle of the city where one could totally disappear. No one knew about it, not really, but they felt the absence it provided whether they wanted to or not. The door called to those who needed to not be, even if briefly so.
Only those who needed it would feel its call, would see it waiting there beneath the flickering light. At the end of an alley at the end of a one way street, it waited.
Just a touch, and it would open, and one could disappear for however long needed.
The joy of oblivion.
The problem was coming back through, coming back home, remembering how to be. This part of the journey incurred a debt, and one could never truly be free. The door took a part of you.
And left you wanting more.