Was he then, the thought passed through, defined by what he owned in terms of quality? Did this car make him feel less of a person? Of course, what a stupid question, it made him feel like a loser: but what he was going to use it for made him feel full of achievement.

Did Mr Lorken’s car – his intention took him there – make him feel something, or did he have so much that to him it was the equivalent of this Honda Accord? That was a depressing thought, that riches took away appreciation of things. They took away decency, he knew that, but did they also take away the excitement of acquisition? Where did the pleasure come from? Power then – power – over all around. Power over people. Taking away the power of the people: that was what had happened: more people, fewer with power. Where would that end up? An elite of, say, five, dominating eight billion – distillation. It was not a new thought to him: it was one of his nightmares.

He pulled onto the road and continued west. On 8th Street the car needed gas, Mr Wong was not a generous car trader: Ever should have stuck on seventeen-fifty. He pulled into a 76 with the intention of buying a can for extra fuel. He filled the car and the gas can, but only after a struggle to find where the release button for the filler cap was.

He had asked no questions about the car’s functions. Why would he? He couldn’t care less. Paid in cash for the gas, and drove slowly; that was what Ms Del Rey dictated. A compelling drone. He felt sorry that she wasn’t singing in a better car, she deserved more; he decided to switch her off and unplug his ears, and listen to the car to make sure it didn’t have noises it shouldn’t. Mr Wong, for all his training, it appeared, was a smoker: he hadn’t even bothered to empty the ashtray. He wondered how Bruce managed his climb to the eighth floor.

Should have stuck on seventeen-fifty. Erase the Mr Smith email account; he hoped Mr Smith would disappear into Chinese thin air.

*

The thing about buying a car from a Chinese man is you want to do it again in couple of hours.

Nearly worked, chuckled Ever, appalled at his cheapness, but liberated to be able to tread on that territory. He always considered himself respectful; maybe he was drying out like a piece of clay; his conscience slowly crumbling away.

He would soon be uncontactable and as unmemorable as the car.

*

His potential anonymity brought him only a temporary comfort.