10pm. With the fire from the fireworks high above a distant horizon, and neighbour's poor choice of music floating and echoing between the houses. A night warm enough to keep restless souls awake outside, laughing, talking, sighing once in a while as the hours unwind. Maybe home, too, is where we relate to those whose voices and faces are familiar without even knowing their names. Or maybe that's just how things are, reasonably late after dusk.