It’s nighttime in the big city, where it doesn’t get dark, there are no stars visible in the sky, a place where you don’t feel alone, where you suspect there are people all around who could become a friend. Or lover. Behind some window or other could be the person who would change your life. Something Don had never thought before. She knew virtually everyone behind every window of her hometown, and didn’t want to be expected by any of them. The air smells like old oil. Of petrol. Of tar, and there are frogs somewhere.

During the night watch Don feels she’s in the right place. At the perfect time. Grown-up and—excited. Their security is up to her. Being responsible for others has a positive effect on the brain’s reward center. A reason people still have children. If they’re even able to, which is ever less frequently the case. Humanity’s sperm seem to know that something’s up.

Quiet. A shimmering quiet is what Don might have thought if she were a fuckwit. If she’d been a person who always walked around barefoot in order to absorb the electrons from the earth, she would say: “I welcome the night because I sense a deep connection with nature only in the absence of light.”

Nature.

Right.

In the—let’s just call it—environs where the children’s—let’s just call it—dwelling is, there isn’t much nature left. A true Anthropocene landscape deep in East London, dotted with enchanted lakes whose surfaces are covered with green sludge through which little gas bubbles pop. Something is happening in there, deep in those lakes that stink of sulfur; they sit among the industrial complexes like pools of blood oozing from dead robots. Nobody comes to this area who doesn’t have to. Except for a few undead and unemployed night watchmen who because of old habits still occasionally check on the empty buildings, a total absence of people prevails in the area. A few years prior this area would have been overrun by the excavators that were digging foundations in even the most unlikely corners of the city for luxury condo towers being built as investments by idiots who wore diapers because they’d lost control of their sphincters as a result of stress. But construction had tapered off. Too many high-rises sitting empty for years on end. Though now it’s so pleasantly quiet. Controlled. Here. What a time it was, when the country was being sold off to dictators, fundamentalists, oligarchs, and whoever the fuck else. What a time, when everyone thought it would go on like that forever. Taller, faster, prettier, more golden. Affluence and exoskeletons for all.

It’s so quiet. A stream gurgles in the distance. A motorway junction where elegant electric cars stand in traffic. A beautiful spot to set up camp. Everything’s good now.

After the first three somewhat problematic weeks.