Always another days 10pm. This time: The sound of tires on a still wet street. Somewhere there's a huge old clock striking ten times. On the other side of the street, neighbours are playing with strange audio devices, emitting a weird metallic chord every other minute, making its way through the wet evening, distorted and echoed by the narrow space between the facades. Still rain and haze between here and the clouds. And always the same light that keeps night from being really dark. An off-world Blade Runner mood in everything. This is where we question ourselves, this is where we keep our memories, this is where we sleep to build new fragile worlds in same-as-fragile dreams.