It's morning. The shadow of the construct overhead looms over the city. We can't say it's cut off all light, but it's there; translucent, shimmering, but an ominous reminder that someone from outer space has come to say more than hello.
It's like watching District 9 with 3D glasses, except this alien ship looks a lot more sophisticated; sort of like the difference between Bond's gadgets and Smart's. And philosophers will probably say it looked predatory. They might as well be right.
But life goes on; if there's one thing we humans are good at, it's convincing ourselves of what we want to see and hear. But you can see it; out of the corners of their eye, when they think no one is watching, their face turns up, and they stare at the hovering circle, somewhere in the sky. It could be right above us; it could be in space; it looks both too close and too far at the same time.
Science fiction authors have called it everything from humanity's saviour, to the herald of its destruction; they call it a monitor, a harbinger. They call it Smiley. From where we see it, it's possible to make out the outlines of two circles on the translucent surface; everyone's still searching for the big grin.
But there's nothing. Smiley continues to watch. And wait.