Martì, or the sound of his name, is back – from another post, from another life – and he seems to be doing fine. A big city can easily morph into a small village when already seen faces strike a particular impression twice, usually for no reason at all. Martì does look all right. Nobody yells his name this time, he isn’t with his lady friend (loud voice), and did she end up having to sell that important thing he didn’t want her to sell? It looks as if Martì has found the money instead, immersed now in a piece of local news reporting some gruesome yet everyday crime. Perhaps his squinting eyes, or his clothes, he’s thanking his lucky star it’s not him in the article, victim or perpetrator – balancing the opposites – simply because the tram’s going through an area of town where he, to all appearances, wasn’t born.