Junctions, junctions. And glass. If this was a movie, the steel would be a blur. On the curb is a blemished, scarred, piece to a puzzle. A puzzled piece. He watches the dance of the raindrops upon the steel and the glass, but doesn't quite hear the music. Well, he hears the other music. It's never quite enough, the melody swimming in his head. He needs to be in the sea, with it. Yet he only sees steel and glass, blurred lines.

He walks onto the road, and then he realises he is singing. And he has always been, since the beginning, since before the beginning.

Always.