Bleak House
Bleak House by M.P. Conn “This is a lovely place, with plenty of room to move about. It has a communal kitchen and living area—quite cozy, if I do say so myself. I’m sure it will suit your needs. The neighborhood is quiet, and there’s even a little garden, as you can see.” A garden? Nothing grew there but weeds, and the ground was littered with scraps of paper and plastic that had blown through the iron fence posts. All of it carried in by the unrelenting wind that had followed me since I stepped off the plane—though it had only been two weeks ago, it now felt like years. Two weeks of trudging through wretched homes: ancient plumbing, kitchens frozen in the 1940s, and threadbare furniture inhabited by even more threadbare adults. The estate agent opened the door and ushered me inside, out ...
