The house, once grand, now crumbling, evokes a long-forgotten dignity. Like its inhabitants, it occupies a nether-space between the street and the respectable houses nearby. I peer inside the open door and call out – ‘hello?’ – tentatively. No one appears. The interior exudes a shabby desperation. Daylight dissolves into shadow. There is a sense of unease, of imminent threat. Here live the people of the street and the night. Some appear at the doorway – a man and a woman – as I wait for ‘Paul’. They’re looking for someone, to buy or sell them something, they’re nervous, it’s urgent, they leave.