The bed made, waiting under the soft glow of a yellow lamp, the condoms in the bedside locker in two varieties, the clean towels in the bathroom, the toilet roll in its holder, the CD machine with some shiny disc in its mouth, Bill Evans or Chet Baker, turning around or ready to turn, the couch, with its cushions, pulled up to the fire that just needs a match to burst into flames, the wine in the fridge, getting colder, my hand that pulls the curtains back to watch the quiet street outside, the neighbour's cat, all these things just waiting for your touch.