At the end of a busy day, there is an old man sitting on the bench in front of my window. Inside the studio loud beats are filling up the room, while he is just there. Steady and silent for at least twenty minutes. I had a busy, but not overly successful day here in the Fishbowl. It just feels as my thoughts were actually not at peace with the plans I had made for this Tuesday. Suddenly a young woman shows up, carefully touching the old man's shoulder and helping him up. Arm in arm they are leaving my sight and I start crying. Some days are like that.