The world in front of me is bathed in orange, where I stand, the shadow of a summer night prevails. The boundary: the sharp edge of the hills crest. Not ten meters above street level the sounds of passing trams and buses are somewhat muffled and from this rather small, secluded park one of Gothenburg’s most notorious crossroads seems almost peaceful. A series of streetlights and illuminated signs scattered about seemingly at random and the slowly turning wings of the amusement park windmill even hint that this place has beauty. But the thought that strikes me is that I can stand here, in plain sight, observing the people move about and not one of them will notice me. It begs the question, who else might be watching?