He dreamt away the day, some ideas flowing around like small boats on a wide river winding through the city. The stones of walls, bridges, asphalt and houses heating up in expectation of a sunny afternoon. Words put onto a paper, put onto an empty white wall on the last floor of a building. Words dripping out the cars, trams, bicycles, pedestrians and occasional ancient carriage weaving themselves into an endless floor of traffic. Words produced by empty places between buildings, touching the ground, jumping back up.