It is 35 degrees below zero in Montréal on this morning, but the requirements of city life demand attention as always. These two heroes are working hard to clean their cold city, cleaning great windows with an accompanying music of splashes and squeaks.  Inside this building, jacketless like Juan Peron making a speech to the workers, is a middle management personage, looking out from his entirely different perspective, trapped behind glass like a dummy in a shop window, an exhibit in a museum.  We can see that his thoughts are elsewhere.  Does he even see the windowcleaners or wonder about their endless task?  Endless, because behind them there are more buildings, more windows.  Or is he thinking that just as the windows must be cleaned again and again until the building is shattered by a wrecker's ball, so he must make money and again more money, whatever the state of the day, in a tie that looks also like a chest cut open.  Or if I go inside, to the warm, and ask him what he is thinking about, will he even know?