A sink, a bare bulb, a Brentwood chair a mirror (reflecting his back side) and a watch reading 10 past 5. Bacon leans on his elbow on the corner of a bare sink, floating in air. His legs are twisted around one another in some kind of paroxism, and his hand is on his forehead above a screwed up, jowly face. It is a truly harrowing picture. Why the bathroom? This is a location where his lover George Dyer committed suicide. Or, is he waiting for the pub to open at 5:30 to drown his sorrows of life? Here he is left to his own thoughts. There are no hanging carcasses, no mysterious intruders, no fights or embraces, no bloodstains. Empty, boring, loathsome may be some of his thoughts.