It was a disaster zone, separated from the neighbour’s property by a short wooden fence with several panels missing. She could see straight into their garden and see its condition was even worse than the one she was presently in. Long weedy grass surrounded an ugly cement slab patio which ran the length of the short house. Old tyres lay strewn over growing grass like some sort of morbid art deco. She couldn’t help wonder why it always seemed to be tyres that were so symbolic of this kind of neighbourhood. These people, who allowed their homes to fall into such a state of disrepair, prepared to live in such squalor. Perhaps it was how they felt inside, reflected on the outside. It was like hanging a sign out the front reading, ‘tis scum lives here so f off!’ “It really is the only place I’ve got on my books that I can offer you at such short notice,” Harry, her plump and ill-suited estate agent repeated. Marie could hear a note of desperation in his voice.
What do You think about The Poor Man's Girl (The Girls)?
