Looking up at the block of apartments, grey and square in the failing light, each level dissected by sharp vertical partitions piecing the units into boxes, he started looking for signs of life. The same happened a few blocks further on, passing by the disused barracks, where he finally caught (unexpectedly) the glimpse of a light in one of the upstairs windows.

Somehow there was a little heartache there: seeing a person at a window, a light that was on and a silhouette would have filled him with warmth and faith. Was he looking for signals to reaffirm his being part of something, did he hope for some sort of sign of life to place himself at that moment?

But he saw nothing further, only the drab monotony and the occasional washing on the line fluttering in the breeze, and this image stuck in his mind as the car moved on and the image fell behind.