The street set was still dark beneath the shadow of the dike but with the glow of the eave-lights I soon reached the front door of our apartment, No. 36. Aramis you wanted to call it, Midnight, I preferred. We would see. The key turned loud in the lock and I almost stumbled as the door swung back. The hall, empty. A number of letters had fallen through the slit in the front door. I picked them up and placed them next to the small pile of furniture and bedding advertising I’d left there on the day of the inspection. Hoping to return later that day to survey this newly-rented domain, our six month project. My residency. The lounegroom was remarkably similar in its dimensieons to our previous abode, with the wide coloured Windows by the street, the back half of the room evaporating towards the dining space and kitchen, all dim and hiding their bright colours in the now dawn light. I left the Vietnamese mint on the kitchen bench and stepped out into the back yard.