An empty car park toward the edge of Barcelona by the Camp Nou. A highly organised space, gridded by paint, bounded by walls. Each parking space a void awaiting fulfilment, some showing evidence of earlier encounters; a little spilled fluid, cigarette butts, wind-blown tissue. Shadows gradually sweep across the silent expanse, intersecting the grids, a sun dial with nobody telling the time. Beyond the walls, informality and entropy, await. Tracks are scoured into the grass, freshly obliterated graffiti shows through paint, weeds erupt. The seedy aroma of human waste permeates. Toward dusk, prostitutes and johns inhabit this place, everywhere the evidence of earlier encounters; a little spilled fluid, cigarette butts, wind-blown tissue.