Finally: Breathing in the open windowframe again. Just for a few seconds to not let all the remaining warmth flee out into the new nights frost. A starry sky above. Fragments of conversations below. Street life in front of the pub, cigarettes burning and it's a surprise to notice people out there at all. (Retreating. Yawning. Turning down the light. And preparing tomorrows page, and be it just a bit. Sleep well everyone wherever you are.)

Way past dusk again. Terrace conversations above the backyard, some music, just loud enough to make it through the early night. Sounds of glasses and bottles, too. Evening chill, real or or just felt as a side-effect of being tired enough once more. Resting on a hard floor, feeling the building and its foundations and the city and the planet below, and keeping focus on that for a brief moment, with an impatient monkey always in the back of the mind. Routines to come to a halt. Sleep tight everyone wherever you are.