Closing in on 10pm. Passing days, changing weeks. Rites of preparation, the things that should be done before the night, the things that need to be done before a new dawn. A distant single sound of a bell and other music. The pub below is gradually moving out to the street again, with chairs and tables between artificial plants, lit in bright white. Some are moving on, some are still drinking. And a whole line of flats floating, dreaming in images from TV screens. Subtext to imaginary movies.