So close now. The road, a concrete drive, a wall. All that separates us. The room that must be his looks onto this road. From the corner of a bus shelter, full of bored scratchings and the smell of piss, I can see through his window. Illuminated, like a screen. I watch him walk from bed to desk to door. Leaning to the right, his fingers on the keyboard. And staring for long enough, I can see him breathing. I am ready.