Ella hadn’t seen Rob in three years. He arrived one Wednesday evening just as the wind began to shift, carrying the smell of crushed leaves and CK1. They didn’t hug. They didn’t need to. Rob had his guitar with him along with a handful of picks he would lose immediately. Ella brought a thermos of lukewarm black coffee into the garden. They could hardly look at each other at first and they spoke little. Ella looked much older, weathered by Itaewon desires and regret. Robert dishevelled as always carried the same kindness, something most lose inevitably. The two sat in the garden for a while and spoke mostly about the weather or a movie Ella had just seen at the cinema. The rest they said in silence, assembling sound in Humana. By the third track, they both dreamed the same dream and years later Rob would say that it must have been a hopeful lie.