A discussion of boundaries. A green line sprayed on tarmac. Spray paint sounds like dice in a cup, smells like pears. The tunnel that leads onto the common. Intimidating shadows. Flinch on entering but the coast is nearly always clear. Patches, stakes, claims, territories. Somehow through unspoken agreements these segments are divided up. Signals sent when the time has come. On exiting two blue hands, palms pressed together as if in prayer. When all else fades an orange stencil of Daffy Duck remains. A feeling of a fairground ride. The ghost train. Black panels. A jolt as the car sets off through dangling plastic that creeps across the face and hands as an electronic sound sends shocks though the bones.