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