The hour between the two shifts
Five is the hinge. The night porter is counting down his shift, the first deliveries are arriving at the back of buildings, and in summer the sky over the canals is already grey by half past four. Nothing is open and everything is about to be. It is a thin hour for the city and a useful one for a booking, because the streets are as empty as they get and a therapist crossing town covers the distance quickly. What it is not is a long runway. Whatever gets booked at five has to finish before the building wakes up around it.











