Some wild-eyed vagrant bursts into a studio and tells a young artist about the evil he’s done and his years on the run. He hands the artist a pistol.

The artist listens attentively before recognising the vagrant’s eyes as his.

Terror… Then resignation follows as he slowly squeezes the trigger.

One of Connell’s many dilemmas is whether to write a bit or not before going to bed. When he writes, he’s sleepy the next day, and when he doesn’t, the ideas slip away.