Walking through open spaces leaves you open to all kinds of outside influences which could strike at any time. A set of impossible to predict possibilities, unwinding with each step in a thousand different directions like a cage of doves opened upon the skies. A man in a robe stares at his feet: one strap of his intricately braided sandals has come loose. A man with a face you recognise and a voice you don’t walks with grim intent, talking on a Blackberry, clutching a carton of eggs. The are not free-range; each single egg lies perfectly white against the grey-purple crinkled cardboard nests. The man in the broken sandals sees this, yells at the man-you-may-or-may-not-know that he is contributing to the human-induced natural apocalypse. The man-you-may-or-may-not-know ignores him and talks louder. A group of school children come pouring into the plaza, dosed up on hyperventilating action on the silver screen, their hands all gripping invisible weapons as they launch small wars against one another. The sun shines on Aotea Square, it is, after all, Tuesday again.