I walk up O’Connell street, a quarter to twelve. I pass three Russians, some strange stand off. The girl is blonde, pretty though I can’t see her face. One man leaves suddenly. The couple are motionless. I half turn, to keep them in view. He is close to her, head a little titled, face says ’I can’t hurt you here, but when I get you home..’ They’re frozen, the painting of a moment.