I think that I am alone out here. I am blowing a thin line of smoke into the dim, warm air. There is a rustle, and I turn, squinting into the dark garden. A cat walks past. Its breast is white, stark and stunning against its black coat. It pauses. We stare-off. It wins. The way its eyes seemed to dissect the deepest stirrings of my soul had startled me, and I had to look away. My phone vibrates, and I look down to see a message from the other side of the world. It is late, and I know that it must be morning for you. I had tried sleeping, earlier, but it was too hot – a thirty five degree Australian night. Now, I smoke a joint in the hope that it will help my slumber.