Has made it home in the meantime. He trudges up the steps. This is what’s left in the darkest hour, an empty, drafty house that isn’t comfortable but is worth 70 million, a cold house, where he sits, the last battle lost, no fire burning in the hearth. Without a goal, Thome’s father feels like that which he is: a person in the last throes of his life who has never managed to convince another of himself in such a way that the other would want to keep him.

It was an honest day

On which

KAREN

Is heading home. And no longer cares about it. She isn’t looking forward to the factory hall, to the area on the outskirts of town, to the noodles, the children, the boredom. She has studied. Nearly. She studied without it bringing her a single step forward. Her life hasn’t changed, her path forward is still the same. Hey, High Holborn, always worth a stroll, lovely, the little kiosk selling overpriced coffee and expensive sandwiches to the high-earners of the neighborhood.

The stately homes, behind which a new residential tower is rising. Breaking of the vertical, the architects say, who with the help of algorithms and new materials are thinking up completely new, quasi hanging gardens of new housing. Glass towers with tentacles, with pools, gardens, meeting places, meaning shops and cafés, and all of it for people with incomes over 600,000 per year. It keeps the squalor at bay. It brings to life the impression of living in swinging London, finger on the pulse of progress, part of the brave new world. Which no longer belongs to those of the former middle class, and one can gain access to the park only if the chip, so to speak. Is so disposed. Karen goes home and no longer cares about it. The home.

“It’ll be light soon,”

Says

PATUK