Awkward friends shared a seat on an ivy-coloured velveteen couch. The words "there is still time, brother" were neatly stencilled on the cushions they were leaning against. Tomek suppressed a girlish giggle as some tourists departed, nearby, uncovering the words "to make out" on their plush rose sofa.

His acquaintances had seen enough.
"Good to catch up," said Anne.
"See you at work," said Dita.
"Good to meet you," said Dita's husband, Sean.
A family walked into the market space. Baby girls with matching navy parkas. The art auction was nearing a close; the small girls echoed the MC.
"Who'll start with eighty dollars?"
"Atey dollas!"
"Atey dollas!"
"I hear that's ninety dollars!"
"Niney dollas!"
"Niney dollas!"
Tomek sat there until the people had gone. The families and the skater teenagers. The body-modded young adults and the silver-haired handsome artists. The Germans and the Americans. The miniature bar, closed, the gallery space, shut. The market area had reverted to its regular weekday self: splattered paint and hopscotch squares chalked on asphalt, slouchy couches, and one strong light shining down, not to deter graffiti artists, but to assist them. Except it was still the weekend, and it was late, and Tomek wanted the artistry of the place to affect him somehow. It didn't.

A gentleman in his thirties brought a ladder into the converted car park. He went back to his car, out on the street, and lugged over some boxes. Tomek assumed the artist market was continuing, and that the next phase was being set up. He offered to give a hand, but the gentleman declined. "Maybe later," he said. Tomek stayed seated.

The man fiddled with the contents of his boxes, then stacked it all back, roughly, and returned to his car, and drove off. Tomek remained as he was, examining his fingers. He accidentally had a nap, and his cold limbs awoke him.

He limped home, with pins and needles. Andreas and Curzon cruised into Rose St and parked in the artist market.
"It really is something," said Andreas.
"Yes," said Curzon.
"He didn't look up."
"He's like that."
"I should have listened to you to begin with," said Andreas. "Should we take it down?"
"Wait," said Curzon.
They waited. Two minutes later, a couple strolled by the empty market.
"Jesus, look at that," said the woman.
"My name's not J--" said the man, faltering. They walked over to stand directly beneath the image.
"It's a hologram," said the woman.
"It must be," said the man. "Is it a galaxy?"
"I don't know," said the woman. "It's moving."
Andreas and Curzon shut the image down. The couple guessed, impressively, that those men were responsible for the vision's birth and death.
"I'd like to see it again," said the woman.
Curzon gave her his card.
"I want to too," said the man, and the couple slowly went away, wordless.
"That wasn't my intention," said Andreas.
"Sorry," said Curzon. "They seemed nice."
"I'm trying to set you up here," said Andreas, calmly, "and all you do is make more vague acquaintances."
"Trying to what?" said Curzon.
"Oh, nothing."
"I already know Tomek."
"Look, well, why did you come along?" said Andreas, packing the last few items into his car.
"Fresh air," said Curzon, as his driver pulled up alongside them and he bid adieu to his old high-school classmate.
"What's it take," mumbled Andreas, revving the cold car engine.

Curzon booked a northerly flight and asked K, his driver, to change direction, for the airport. He had the blues. There were twelve messages on his voicemail since he'd left his house that evening. He marked them all as "read" without reading them. At the airport, he settled into the Europa Traveller Lounge and did some reading. He bookmarked his place in a chapter, and mused upon his situation.
"Sell my house in Australia," said Curzon, to his phone. "I'm moving to somewhere else."
As soon as he hung up, the phone rang. He checked the caller ID.
"How are you?" said his sister.
"OK," said Curzon. He could hear she was calling from an aeroplane. "I'm moving."
"Good for you," said his sister. "Come visit me."
"No, I don't like England. I don't like the grey."
"OK," she said. "Go somewhere warm."
"I am," said Curzon.
"Dinner's here. Talk soon!"
"Good bye."

Curzon shuffled through travel brochures, trying to find inspiration for a destination. He still had the blues. His phone rang and he checked the caller ID.
"Hi, Tomek."
"Hi, Curzon. I saw an illusion today. Did you do it?"
"Of course. Did you like it?"
"Yes, yes, yes. What was it for?"
"Nothing better to do," said Curzon.
"I see."
"Andreas was trying to set me up with you."
"Who's Andreas? - Nevermind - Why set you up? - We're not gay."
"I don't know," said Curzon.
"It doesn't make sense," said Tomek.
Curzon laughed unhappily.
"What's funny," said Tomek, cautious.
Curzon kept quiet.
"OK," said Tomek, yawning, "call me if you ever want to talk, OK?"
"OK," said Curzon. "Good bye."
His phone snapped shut, then rang again, and he pressed the power button until it stopped. He asked a host for a phone, and they produced one from their deep pockets. He dialled.
"Sorry," he said. "Don't sell my house. I like it. I'll be away for a short while, that's all. I want to have a holiday."