Daylight grey a cold evening. trains overhead and on bridges. stone rattles steel and the water stains brickwork dirt black. hands reach to pockets for some warmth instead of objects. daylight, filtered and tabby cat-grey. smoke-caked fur puffing. old grease between corners and under parked cars. chip bags crawling like crabs in the breeze. a man at the doorway to a quayside casino between connolly train station and o’connell st bridge makes a decision and lights a john player. his hand cups some warmth as his mouth draws tobacco-smoke. taxis line up in the unmannered manner of cattle at gates into yards. tonight is a landlord-bought rolling-up blind on a bedsit flat window in dublin, the northside, closing on uncoloured views.