Before dawn one day in midwinter, a man in flight from a crisis returns to a city he lived in long ago. He has lost everything-his home, his security, his sense of self-and now he sets off on foot through the streets as he prepares to knock on the door of an old friend, to swallow his pride and ask for a place to stay. But something unnameable interferes with his plans. He takes a turn around a corner. Then he turns again, and again, and again. He wanders off on tangents, re-crosses paths he has already followed, and moves in ever expanding circles, aimlessly pivoting around an invisible centre. He hesitates. He prevaricates. He can’t walk towards the shame of doing what he must. He stops, lingers, tarries. He touches the surfaces of the city, opens himself to its tones and textures. He delves into the past, his own past and the past of the place, bringing to mind his bygone encounters with life on the edge of solvency. His is a record of borderline squalor, of exploitation, of begging to maintain the status of even a precarious existence; a history of minor humiliations, of frustrated ambitions, of friendships with the marginalised and kinship with the dispossessed.