I didn't fancy it much, lying in the unmade bed. The rumpled sheets, the black shadows where someone else had lain put me off. I sat on the floor and waited. I slept a cold, shallow sleep. When I pulled back the curtain again I saw that the man was still there, waiting, watching. His foot was still up on the wall. He could have been a statue. Except something had changed. I could see that he was wearing headphones. He was waiting for the messages that travel through the dark to be picked up as dreams. I remembered the silver saucepan filled with bubbling water, the gas budding into a blue flower. Grains of rice submerged in the foaming energy of heat and water. The spaces between the grains and the self-conscious feeling that formed in the vicinity of these watery spaces. I thought about the word I had written before putting my pen down. The man was still there, watching, waiting. The headphones were picking up signals in the dark. It's a safe bet that he had heard the word that had written itself into the protective, sacred circle of my thoughts.