It’s 11 a.m. and the letting agent is late. As I wait outside an apartment block for my viewing, I watch as two drunk men fight over a packet of Wotsits. By the time the agent arrives, one of the drunk men is motionless on the floor. The other sits on a bench, licking orange Wotsit dust from his fingers. ‘Great location!’ says the agent. ‘Couldn’t get closer to the station if you tried.’
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Once inside, I immediately cover my nose. ‘What’s that stench?’ I ask. ‘It smells like someone microwaved a used nappy in here.’ The agent shrugs. He shows me the rooms, of which there are few. I point at the mould in the bathroom which is beginning to take on a humanoid form. The agent shrugs again. We finish the tour in the kitchen. I try to turn on the tap but the faucet comes off in my hand. I look at the agent. ‘Do you want this flat or not?’ he asks, apparently nonplussed. ‘I’ve got three more viewings this afternoon, so think fast.’
