The street adjacent to this piece of land was homeless central, plastic housing, in sheets of blue and occasional yellow, one after the other, their sounds drowned by the cars’ endless journeys overhead on the freeway, their dreams spilt on the side of the road, and they had the agony, now, he supposed, but with a developed immunity, of being dwarfed by the mega millions of the buildings of the downtown areas. In particular the Ritz Carlton.

Ever always had these moments of reflection at the absurdity of the world.

He then got out, walked around, noticing an alley to the left of the building; through that to the street on the other side were a couple of cafés and a Milagro’s Market, the Chinese influence giving way to Mexico; but there was a final Eastern attempt at territorial dominance in the form of a functional, plastic-seat, red-and-white-check-tablecloth Chinese restaurant.

The description ‘authentic’ fitted all these places perfectly. But what really captured Ever’s eye was a hotel; five floors high; two-room width; with a fire escape zigzagging its way up the front of the building.

It was called Isis Adelphia.

The sign worn, the bead curtain that represented the front door had had a thousand rippling noises declare arrival into this miniature, decayed palace. The name when built, Isis, goddess of the sky, must have carried a romance; now it had whole different connotation and he supposed this was the reason for there having been no attempt to revitalise the sign. Or did they even care? Adelphia was, he seemed to remember, just the name of a town in ancient Greece, and could give it no significance beyond that. Or was it Delphi?

The road he had turned off was a constantly flowing two-lane road and the chain link fence was partly broken down, with just the one entrance, the one he had used. Piles of non-disposable trash had amassed, over what looked like a long, long time; vegetation had grown through the tyres, there were smashed concrete blocks, an old fridge, and sofas with visible springs that even the homeless had disregarded. No residential life around, it just felt lonely. The land was not going to be used for parking, save for the one truck that was there, he was sure of that.

There was the heartening sight of a car, completely stripped of all inside that was ever of value, standing as a shell. A pale blue shell. His new car fitted in perfectly. A good sign. This was somewhere he could melt into insignificance after the act.

And he appreciated the irony of its location.

He never thought a piece of nondescript neglect could give him a feeling of such satisfaction. He climbed back into the car, his car, that was a hard concept to grasp; without a thrill, and not feeling like himself, he drove out.