8am and on. A drill on concrete, somewhere in the building, right to the depths of nerves and senses. That fuzzy grey cloud out there are doves that made their way back in between these houses. Office workers doing phone calls while looking out of the window, on the opposite side of the building. Also: Letting in a breeze of air. Wondering whether anyone has been here the last three weeks. Probably not. Old dust old calendars and thriving coffee mug civilizations.