You can almost see the shape of a man and a woman, writhing inside -- bathed in drug…

You can almost see the shape of a man and a woman, writhing inside -- bathed in drug sweat and dirty linens. Bottles lie around everywhere...

"I think I can see into Klaasje's bedroom from here."

He leans closer to inspect the peephole. "You can barely see through. Better not to jump to sensationalist conclusions here."

"The footprints on the floor, however..." He points to the marks nearby, on the floor. "Definitely suspicious."

Boring footprints. I want to jump to sensationalist conclusions.

What were those people doing -- in there?

You lean closer to the peephole, instinctively. I bet they're doing something quite unnatural there. Sensationally unnatural.

If your mesolimbic reward pathway were to venture a guess: one of the bottles is probably being put somewhere it doesn't belong.

And were your glands to venture another guess -- they would add that another bottle is being put somewhere very close to that. The bottle is a bit smaller you see.

Also! You can literally put speed up your asshole, did you know? Enters the bloodstream right through the mucus membrane! So yeah, that's definitely also taking place.

[Finish thought.]

Signage is put up and taken down, shop windows boarded up and reopened once more. What remains constant -- voyeurism, always unhelpful. And, at times, quite fully helpless.

It's not my fault this pinball operation failed.

No, but how does it make you feel, to dig through its trash?

Like a good investigator.

Then do your job.

Like an intruder.

But why? None of this belongs to anyone anymore.

Like I should be grieving something, but I'm not sure what.

There are too many places to start, aren't there.

Like a survivor.

But of what conflict or catastrophe?

[Ignore thought.]

Is that why that hole in the wall is there? Voyeurism?

It doesn't even matter why it was put there in the first place. That's something it could have been used for.