11pm. Those who don't sleep. And the cat. Always close to midnight, at least mentally. The silence from within these walls, the sound of sleeping rooms, the echo of dreams just started, dreams already fading into each other. The sound of sand in an imaginary hourglass. (Turning another page. Leaving a new date on the empty one, unsure whether the old one ended in any meaningful state. And then, closing the book for now. A few hours before dawn.)