The apathetic owner did not bother to accompany his new tenants to their flat. While Dodger prowled around, Sam stared through the filthy transparex. Across the channel, Sam could see the smog bank that hid the Cardiff plex. Beneath him, grey Bristol bustled about its business: but the smog covered any sign of the activity and hid the tawdry Christmas decorations and neon and trideo exhortations for gift-giving that had festooned the streets. It could be any day, any sprawl.