No. 10 Luckenbooth Close has an outsider status as true and fucking righteous as her own. Neither of them have anywhere else to call home. Nobody is coming to save them. Dot is into the weirdly romantic splendour of its faded curtains. Stories tucked away on every floor. She goes looking for them. There are signs to be found everywhere. How many people have lived here? Been housed here? Lost their minds, or hearts, or if they were lucky – found a time in their life to be safe! Ah, for such a thing! Dot goes through to her room. She has drawn the entire building out on the wall. She sleeps next to it. Adds notes. Wakes in the morning and stares at it while smoking. She is not certain what she is doing. It’s instinctual. What is she looking for? She doesn’t entirely know.

It’s something.

No. 10 Luckenbooth Close has a spiritual lock and she is in some way – a key.

Happy to be it.

Dot pours herself a brandy coffee.

Life is now.

It is so much stranger than anybody says.