Thin plush wires shivering in the hum of the chassis

The light grey matting has been partially smoothed out

The neon lights in the fishbowl wag their tails facing west

waterstones receipts squeeze two millimetres out of their pages

Behind white gauze curtains are sleepy Soviet buildings with non-reflective windows

A few folds and curves spread irregularly across the square

I'm waiting for the moment when the theatre breaks up in twelve minutes