A Ticket on the sidewalk to something he doesn’t pick up.
Failure feels like a barrage of arrows in a silent film and he falls up against the bar which could have been his wagon, wounded. He interjects in a conversation between a Merchant and a Sultan who is rubbing hands over some chests on a camel. The Merchant believes the gongs that struck across the city in the night are a portent of an impending doom. The Sultan laughs and suggests a party at the palace got a little loud. Here, his theory on such ancient sirens, and pointing to the ships in the sky to demonstrate the statement, mouthes the word Orion, or Onion, I cannot be sure. And as the silent chinese dancers in high heels cancan in the fountains on the soundless streets, there comes a clapping out of time from the balconies above.