Port of Spain. Rain. Rain everywhere. Rain on the streets, on the galvanise, on the cars, in hair. Rain that starts, then stops. Starts, then stops. Whispers, then screams. Tears, then tears. Roberts Street. A park just off Alice Yard. Akuzuru and red blood cells. A parade in the rain. An ambush in the rain. Traffic stopped. Cars, curious. Walk with us into this dark place. Space. The objects are props. Are onions, clay, bay leaves, stones, a pail of water, in a yard of water, under the shower, the deluge. Apres moi. Akuzuru in the box. The cutlass is not sharp enough, the broom is not a paintbrush. The beats of this not the beets, stains, unforgotten.