Always 10pm. First night of summer, it seems, later the day, longer the night, still light disappeared much earlier under incoming troubled clouds. Harsh breezes repeatedly keep bashing the trees behind the houses, a rustling of leaves and branches melds with the lines of conversation floating out of so many open windows and balconies. Neighours still are far enough from sleep to consciously fill these hours with random pieces of temporary importance. (Late reality of dream-like images.)