It’s kind of a pastoral scene. The air feels balmy, the ascending summer sun lights a dunghill, which turns out to be an apartment.

Pansies grow all over, a pig sleeps calmly nearby; Dostoevsky’s The Idiot, Mann’s Joseph and His Brothers, Mark Fisher’s K-Punk lies on the nightstand, Hugo’s Toilers of the Sea on the ground; there is a phone on the unmade bed and a lamp to light up the darkness (has to be battery-driven).

This is a place and a way to live among sky-high real estate prices, gutted-out ideals and a badly beaten ecosystem. Marvelous.