Close to 10pm again. Daylight's fading, hours and plans are falling to fragments. Some bearing notes, some brightly coloured, some just dim snippets of thoughts unpolished, unfinished, unfit for any kind of deeper involvement. All of them in a way reflecting the city streets at this hour, the laste bustling activity before sleep, the silence between closed stores and empty parking lots, the twilight under the trees where teenagers of the neighbourhood also by today again try to experience what this night is made of. Early in week, everything still feels open and possible.