At first glance the surroundings varied negligibly from Rochdale. Beige and mold-colored little buildings, flowerless yards, a few broken-down cars, a few attack dogs, groups of hostile-looking youths. Nearly all light-skinned. Lots of bicycles. Probably stolen. No trees. There wasn’t a single goddamn tree. In Rochdale there’d at least been a few stunted, mostly bare-branched, wretched trees around the fenced parking lots and the football pitch. Here stood—nothing except—buildings. Front yards with scrap metal and streets with grim youths.

Anyone who lived in this area stayed here—most of the residents often went no farther than the end of their block because they lacked the money for any means of transport. However did they find their lust for life, these simple people, without well-cultivated distractions from the tedium that came with life, without cinema, theater, concerts, restaurants, dinner at friends’ places, weekend trips, visits to the salon, to the zoo, to the café, to the spa, planning holidays, shopping expeditions.

So.

The little family had arrived in front of the new flat. A row house with a broken garden fence and rocks in the front yard. And now Don had to get out of the van, and this new life became reality. Suddenly she missed her friends so deeply that tears welled up in her eyes. Most of all she missed

HANNAH

Who’d gotten a mysterious message from Don that morning.

“Place destroyed. On the way to new place in Manchester-Salford. See you soon.”

WTF.

Hannah would figure it out later. First to get up. Or to stay seated a little longer, staring out the window.

In the front yard stood burned-out car chassis, ironically. They were always found in poor areas. Bones thrown into the grave by the wealthy, which the losers could still gnaw on a bit.

Peter lay on his mattress with his eyes open and was perhaps deceased. He’d been living in Hannah’s room for a few months already. And had said possibly ten sentences, all of which began: “Where is…” It would never stop. Hannah’s loneliness would always be the same. It began upon waking up. “Good morning, Hannah!” it said to her. That there was nobody else who wanted to stick by her was obvious every morning.

Nobody who would lift her up. Nobody waiting for her. Out in the world—nobody was looking forward to her presence. It was unbearable. Sometimes Hannah’s sense of isolation on the planet was so overwhelming that she could hardly breathe.