The Festival is over and the strings of coloured lights. are blowing crazy in the coming wind. One bulb comes loose shatters on the ground. The empty streets pick up the sound it echoes like a tiny gunshot. ringing through the damp and through the silence. Water trickles slowly like the feel of troubles only half washed away. Behind the wire the watchman doing nights sits beside a wall of screens. but he's not watching - gazing into the steam rising from his cup of coffee. He's locked away inside. Staring into the light of a different world.. Near the top of Sandford Road there's a parked Mondeo in the shadows. The lighting of a cigarette illuminates four faces not talking just waiting. The man in the front passenger seat holds the phone to his ear. listens to a thin voice giving the details. While in the back the boy with the long hair. stares out through the misty glass into the dark streets. and into the light of a different world. Three streets down the restaurant is empty 3am weeknights dead-time. The owner came here years ago and never lost the dream of going home. but knows he never will. In the kitchen his son sits head in hands thinks about leaving. Anywhere - just somewhere that's not here. Doesn't look up or see the Mondeo passing outside. He's staring into the light a different world. There's a couple in a red car coming home late on the inner ring. not talking or listening to the music just lost in their own thoughts. The Mondeo shoots the lights at sixty-five. Swerves catches the red car that spins and rolls. Lands upside down in a crumple of metal and shattered glass. The girl sits trapped inside watching new blood trickle down her shoulder. Turns to see her boyfriend slumped against the dash. as a little crowd gathers round. 'Make him wake up make him wake up' she's screaming. 'Make him wake up make him wake up' and now she's pushing at him. 'Make him wake up make him wake up'. But he's gone. Staring into the light of a different world.