The men sit because they′re worn out from walking to the Labour Exchange every morning to sign for the dole, discussing the world’s problems and wondering what to do with the rest of the day.

But why are the heaven-bathed souls consumed by the yearning to sleep, to embrace the narcotic, papaverous hymns of Orpheus to Night and Sleep, to leave being for becoming?

Try to avoid becoming too predictable or repetitive, particularly at regular junctions.

Love, love will tear us apart, again.