Emcee clasps his hands over Jay's, for a moment rooted to the spot.

Yes, it's home. The building itself hasn't changed, still old-world blocky with vaguely gothic moulding that's the only visual clue of what this place was.

They're standing by the mouth of an alley. Emcee looks up, following the fire escapes to the sixth floor, the topmost storey, and he points to the dark window at the corner.

"That's my flat," he says with a hollow chuckle. "The air that wafts up there in the middle of summer is delightful."