But full as the sidewalks were on Thursday, few people paused anywhere for more than a moment. Teahouses where men gather to smoke and argue about Iraq’s dysfunctional politics were all but abandoned. Tables at street-level restaurants were empty, and bored waiters leaned against the walls or rearranged the cutlery.

And when they ventured out, several people said that they tried to avoid large crowds, and that they had gotten in the habit of sending a stream of reassuring text messages to nervous family members at home: Yes, we’re all right. We’re eating now. Everything is O.K. We’ll be home soon.

Heidar Laith, 23, saw the residue of fear in the empty patio of his Ice Pack ice cream parlor. On any normal Thursday, he said, the tables would have been crowded with families and clusters of young couples and single men.

It had been a bloody week. Nearly 60 people had died on Sunday night in a siege on a Syrian Catholic church not far from Mr. Laith’s shop. Two evenings later, 16 bombs ravaged neighborhoods across the city. Karada was spared more bloodshed, but the police swarmed the streets and ordered people home under an emergency curfew.