The same shot as image 1, in exactly the same drawing style, with exactly the same camera and framing, the same full wide view of the street front: the same door, tree in its planter, wall lantern, lamppost, window with the green awning, café table and chairs. But this moment is later: the hurricane is over, the wind has died, a steady rain falls straight down, cold grey light, puddles, torn green leaves on the ground, no umbrella and no broom anywhere. Far right, the woman in the red gown still sits at the café table, legs crossed, arms crossed, face turned away, eyes closed, with the big black storm cloud above her, raining. In the middle, around the lamppost, stand the man and the three neighbours, all soaked and dishevelled: the man in his long black overcoat, copper hair flattened and dripping, holding a charred black rose stem in his right hand; the big street sweeper with the walrus moustache and fur hat, without his broom; the small round old lady in lilac with her handbag, her hat crooked; the little girl in the mustard-yellow coat and beret. All four look toward the woman on the right. Each person has exactly two arms and two hands. No text, no letters.
