The room was dark, and with the curtains closed the room’s orientation were unrecognisable. The path to my window, however, was easy, memorised from years of unconscious practice. I fumbled with my lamp, the switch awkwardly situated halfway-down the power cord. Once switched on, its luminous glow threw the room into a mixture of contoured shadows - some from the bed, others from the clothes hanging around the room. At this time of the morning, these black pot-holes of uncertainty were enhanced only by the silence. Absent were the laboured breathes from the couple next door, the children running up and down the corridor, the drone from the main road but two streets away. The lights and outdated music of the minimart have already been granted 4 hours rest, and would return in another hour. It seemed as though the continual rain had drowned the day’s progress, not only in the suburban nature, but in the suburban spirit. The silience, combined with the aftermath of rain, made the night almost threatening.