He wends his way through the maze of townhouse streets, sucking in the green but tainted air hungrily, as if seeking something in it to savour more than he is likely to achieve. He reaches the crescent where he lived as a boy with his parents, cozy and disconnected from the wildness of the streets beyond, and now as then offering the illusion of disconnection from the rest of the city, the world, all people everywhere except the tribe dwelling within the fortressed cul-de-sac.
He finds the boy sitting on the curb, immersed in the world of his solitude. His eyes are clutched tightly against the glare of the sun, while his head is c****d fixedly skywards, mouth held rigidly wide in a snarl. The sun flashes from the braces that cover his teeth. But for this odd expression, the man considers
