She puts on one of her favourites. She likes it very much, this song. So much that she listens to it every day. Every single morning, the same song, just to start things off. She sways at her window, in front of the nets. People go by, on the street, and they look towards the window because the music’s loud enough to hear as you pass, but they can’t see in. You can’t see in through nets. Not in the daytime, anyway. She knows this. Her mother told her. And she’s checked it for herself. She’s stood outside her own window, trying to see inside, but all that can be seen is reflections, of the trees, unlit street lamps, the buildings opposite.