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Listen to the silence, let it ring on (Joy Division, Transmission) I It is not yet dawn The city is a distant murmur Laid out on the desk before him are the tools of his nightly excursions, boxed in metal, wired together, patiently waiting He places the headphones over his ears, flicks the switch at the side of the machine Outside, through the window, he can see no people, no passing cars It is raining Clouds turn queasily in the sky A bird begins singing, somewhere out of sight   The first rush of sound welcomes him back; that familiar fuzz of static that sluices through his ears, engulfs his brain, and plunges him into the flux He reaches for the dial and brushes its ridged edge with his fingertips, letting his ears adjust to the nuances of the night Hiss Crackle Warmth Wondering briefly what he is about to discover, if anything, he closes his eyes Sometimes the nights are barren, sometimes not   Rain falls more heavily, patters against the window with a sound like soft applause A quick bite of his lip, a scratch of his neck Everything is ready He turns on the tape machine, presses Record The heads spin in their plastic window     2   Lightning whitens the road for an epileptic second Pavements, cars, gutters and shops: everything’s bleached by the light ‘That’s what, the hundredth time this hour?   Jimmy smiles   The café is the only place open along this long, dark, featureless road, and it’s packed People are loitering among the tables in clothes so wet that liquid shadows are gathering around their feet None of them wants to be marooned in this low-lit, white-tiled little place on a Friday night But here they are, imprisoned by falling water   ‘Is your phone still fucked?’ I ask   Everything stopped working once the storm began Mobiles, the internet, the wall-mounted TV: all of them paralysed The only means of communication with the outside world – albeit one-way