He didn’t answer the question; his expression was blank, staring through me towards the window. “There are five telegraph wires” he said. I’m not sure whether it was directed at me or purely a mental note of his own observation. The room was littered with empty coke cans. I thought about the different levels of liquid left in each of them. Thought about lining them up and tapping them and listening to the various tinny pitches they would make. They’d sound like a dead wind-chime- confined. Music without a voice.