H. and P. are standing in our kitchen. P. is holding one of our stools in her hands. Music is coming from the stool and we check whether it is loud enough. P. removes the seat to see whether the colour matches her flat or her daughter's. H. keeps asking how much the fridge cost, and I keep replying that I don't remember. I wonder what kind of Sunday this is. Y. calls. I see on a black-and-white screen that she is standing in the rain and tell her to take shelter. But there is nowhere to go. I can see her position and run to the car to pick her up. It is parked further away under a roof and I hope it is not blocked in.

I tap a beat on my stomach, which I record in a plugin.