Out of my studio window I happen to notice two women and a man engaged in an argument on the street below. The man, infuriated, is yelling at one of the women, every so often he waives his hand in what can only be interpreted as a threatening gesture. The woman to whom he’s speaking has her back to me, so I can’t see her expression, and nothing particular can be discerned from her slumped, but otherwise neutral posture. The other woman, meanwhile, either a friend or the partner of the man, appears deeply upset. Her face is scrunched-up in worry, and every so often she places a hand on the man’s arm in a gesture of appeasement. But the man won’t be subdued; over the next ten minutes or so (I pass by the window intermittently, trying my best not to be a voyeur) he continues berating the other woman. Though I can only make out selected words or phrases (‘Fuck that!’ ‘She never did!’ ‘You have no idea!’ ‘How?!’), I have the impression that the more he talks, the more his fury intensifies. At some point a car pulls up into the parking spot a short distance from where the argument is taking place. A mother, father and son pile out. They’ve just gone shopping, and as the mother leads the child into the building (ignoring, or pretending to ignore, the argument) the father unloads several bags of groceries onto the curb, and, carefully avoiding the sidewalk scene next to him, schleps the bags inside, one by one, with a studied air of nonchalance, as the argument continues beside him.