1:30am.
The night is deepening, a sudden swell of cold water up from the wall. Slips into the shadows, and the darkness is changed, seeps into the day, and the afternoon is different. Time speaks with a different accent. We're in autumn country now. Approaching the border anyway.
We're in the small hours too. There is that silence of the small hours. That deep, deep humming of silence, or what passes for silence in this semi-suburbia. There should be a bird cry, out there in the night. It would be the perfect accompaniment, but the windows closed, and I can hear nothing.
1:34am.
