It all got too much and the polyester fumes had dissolved all the tiny pipes in his face, as all of the four humours drained from his body through his face, his nose remained blocked, stubborn, immovable. He thought about the dark negative space inside all those Henry Moore bronzes in public spaces, and imagined the dark cavity just behind his nose. His mouth slowly sealed with thick political fluid, his stuffy nose now responsible for his life, if it had cleared like clouds parting to reveal the sun for just a minute or so, it could save him, but it did not.