Entering a supermarket superstore from the concrete complex of an underground car park. The enormity of the place (with adjoining cafe and travel agents) giving it the feel of an airport. A sense of calm. Under bright lights, the staff seemingly outnumbering the customers, the occasional trolley comes into vision from the vast avenue of an aisle. No music (muzak), transactions conducted quietly and the late night opening hours invoking a kind of fraternity, where only those who can’t, or won’t, join the frenetic masses convene.