What I thought was the beeping of a heart monitor was actually the beeps of a pedestrian crossing. I feel hollowed out. Heavy and exhausted, I sit on the street corner bench. I began the satellite pass stood next to the empty plot beside our house but moved because there was so much radio noise. It has become a mysterious fact that, since the block of flats that stood there was demolished last summer, the void has been filled with radio waves. I imagine live electrical cables buried under the compressed rubbled. Electric snakes hidden under shattered brick. This image has stopped me from venturing behind the flimsy construction site fence to pick wild flowers. A woman walking to beautifully glossy dogs stops to ask if I am listening for bats. For a moment, I wish that I was engaged in a short-range, in-situ sensing that could connect me more directly to the nature that surrounds me. Before the building was demolished there was a large bat population. No, I say, weather satellites. Man-made, metal birds, a thousand kilometres away. One of the three sisters in my building passes and asks what I am doing. I offer a less than satisfactory explanation as I have decided to rush to the nearby supermarket before it closes to buy a 'sports drink' in an attempt to replenish the electrolytes in my body.