’s intellect was like a luminous sword, but she had never understood these zero numbers. Was there such a thing as hundreds of billions? Was it sitting around in some cellar? In any event: crisis. Banks went under, brokers jumped out the windows of office towers, lines at the bank machines, virtual currencies boomed, the whole fucking thing, all over the world again, it goes without saying. Portugal and a few other countries that Don would never visit went bankrupt. Don thought: So what? We’re bankrupt, too. That’s the advantage of being poor.

Don had other worries. She was in a new school and had to reestablish with a hoodie and sullen demeanor her position as a child everyone should be scared of. In their circles there was a clear hierarchy: thanks to the equitable poverty they all shared, there were only those who were afraid and the rest. Amazingly, Don didn’t need to maximize her tools in the new school. There were no knife fights, no battered children, and barely any drug dealers. The school director believed in wonder and had hired good teachers, she made sure there was acceptable food for lunch, and after school there were workshops, courses, and in the evening a youth club which even hosted a weekly event for homosexuals. Most of the children preferred to be at school rather than at home; they didn’t hang around bored on the streets or engage in minor break-ins just for something to do. The director would later be let go for cost-cutting reasons.

Don’s idiotic brother stopped pissing his bed, their insane mother looked for a job and found nothing; she had pills and booze. Don never knew what condition she would find her mother in when she got home—lying on the floor blocking the door from the inside, or just cowering in the kitchen staring at an array of pills on the table.

After a few weeks in Manchester-Salford Don had nearly forgotten that she once lived somewhere else. She was sitting in front of the building and waiting for a miracle when a convoy of SUVs drove into the neighborhood. It was a film crew.

An hour later a nervous, severely underweight woman who, it seemed, was smoking three cigarettes simultaneously, stood at Don’s door, and it was truly strange, because other than the absolutely lowest rungs of the underclass, nobody smoked anymore. Being seen with a cigarette was like appearing in public in puke-smeared underwear. An affectation of her peculiar job. The woman was a location scout and wanted to take pictures of Don’s apartment because she was looking for authentic, original scenery. There was to be a social drama shot. England was known for its gripping social dramas. In case that hasn’t been said yet. Television viewers whispered excitedly: “Wow, these social dramas.”