From my window. A man in a white baniyan and pajamas is standing with an empty can in front of him on the road. He’s walking around liesurely adjusting his shirt, feeling his belly, under the golden orange street light. Two orange lights and one white light in a triangle march forwards against the backdrop of complete darkness. A young girl is holding the hands of two adolescent men, walking amidst them swinging her hands, pushing the night to postpone the boredom of sleep. The man gathered his cans, hung them on his cycle delicately balancing their weights and moved on. End of night. He didn’t know he was part of the over rated certainty of a few words transmitted across a long distance with a few clicks forming images in another’s eyes. He will never know. Would he be amused if he did?