Woke up in the big bed in the good room because I was the one staying over. Scramble up onto knees and there's a tree on fire. Just the one. A man walks into a sharp shaft of light and casts a fantastic shadow six decks tall. Scrabble for a camera but gone. Hang out the window in pyjamas poised for half an hour. Perched on the sill. The next man appears with a dozen tiny dogs all tangled up and I will him into the shaft but last nights whiskey wins so I give up waiting and go back to sleep with the window wide open off the latch. My friend says, seagulls can fly in you know, at this height. But I half think as I drift off again, well it'll make a great photo if one does. Tower blocks were built before town planners realised they shouldnt stack people who drink. Says some wag. Plenty of room for a flight of fancy mind.