A demonstration in the courtyard of a former tram factory, next to a mobile workshop: new machinery travelling across Europe on board state-of-the-art lorries. It shows how old wind turbine blades can be shredded into small granules, which are then assembled to build new urban structures. This circularity seems to me to tie in with the temporal dimension of our words on stage: we blend past, present and future. What has been intertwines with what might be. At times the two planes merge, so that the transfiguration of a real-life event appears as a future prospect. The account of an experience lived in a particular context foreshadows what we imagine might unfold on a larger scale. Meanwhile, in the present, in an act of contemporary piracy, soldiers from one of the world’s most violent states board an unarmed flotilla carrying bread and peace in international waters. The sun is setting and the city around us is beginning to stir. Echoes of marches and demonstrations reach the courtyard of the former factory. A stir to which we join as night falls, closing our circle with words of disarmament.