Brighton after Midnight and Earlier

The road is calm, and the passing taxis sound muted.
12:22am.
Earlier, on Em's balcony, I watch the hotel across the street. Behind net curtains, a woman turns the 'Vacancies' sign around, and switches off a similar neon sign in the window. She locks the door, and later, three people arrive, an older man and woman, and a younger girl. The same woman inside unlocks the door and ushers them in. They struggle with their luggage. In the obscured but lit hallway, she locks the door again.
Earlier, walking with Em back along the seafront, notice the old pier suddenly vanishing into white. Sea-mist and heat-fog. The tops of buildings vanish and suddenly the pier can't be seen at all. Ghost-snowblind. The fog suddenly clears, but out to sea it lingers over the calm water, clouds floating on frozen waves. The buoys bob like the heads of swimmers.
Earlier, with Tom in the Pavilion Gardens. Telegen ghost. Not spoke to him since in a Worcestershire field, over the phone, half an hour after we had lost our jobs.
Earlier, voices out in the hall of this house of bedsits, and when I left my room, the television that had been out on the landing for months had gone. Leaving the house I saw it, unwieldy an d strangely old fashioned, lying on its side by the communal bins.
Early now. Early July. Half an hour into the seventh month.
This 39th summer continues.