You kick a can down the wet cobbled street. The end of the road bends away like a mars bar left over a radiator; the houses follow along to either side. The can clanks along and comes to rest under the wheel of a red parked VolksWagen. At the end of the street you can see the skyline of the town, painted into the bowl between two hills. It’s early morning, but you haven’t been to sleep, so as far as you’re concerned it’s very late at night. A light frost sleeps on the windows, and quiet wisps of steam breath snake around your nose and mouth, before bursting into weak plumes. You follow the path of the can down to the car, and bend down the wheel to pick it up. You grab the wet, half crushed drink container and trip on the yellow gaze of a dark cat, crouching on the pavement beside the car, waiting for you to show her the way home.