At 10:40 p.m. the mic records applause nobody gives

—Again, Rafa. Minute forty-one of last night's recording. Listen.

—I put scenery up and take it down, Julia. You are the one with the ear.

—Four seconds of applause, with the theatre already locked and the show over twenty minutes earlier.

—It is midnight and I have spent three nights waiting for you to turn the key.

—This is the third time: same hour, 10:40, same fragment. If it is a fault in the kit, the company technician comes tomorrow and charges me for the visit.

—And what if I tell you the open-air cinema in the park finishes its film at 10:40?

—...

—Three hundred metres in a straight line, downhill. On Thursdays they show comedies and the audience claps at the end. At that hour the air always comes from there.

—Rafa.

—What.

—Tomorrow the ambience mic points at the park for the last five minutes.

—That is not the show.

—It is the only audience that claps in this town. I want it on the recording.