The first shaft of light broke over the horizon, igniting the border between earth and sky, and indirectly illuminating the city. Early morning joggers shielded their eyes against it, rendered a black silhouette against the morning sky. Rooms of houses, flats, offices, shops. Empty shells of broken bottles, marble arts of figures past, the forgotten window of a rented basement where somewhere below a small beaker of something unfortunate bubbled and roiled against the unexpected light. A smash against a hard stone floor, and a silent plume of its smoke drifting over the last dawn the city would now see.