My children were chased off the public playground. “Blond kids pay one euro for the slide and the swing.”
Every town has a neighborhood people lower their voices about. I live in one.
It was planned as an ecological mix: mostly single-family homes, plus a few apartment buildings as a social placebo. The state would only help pay for the development if a certain number of people lived there by a certain date. Most plot owners were saving their land for their kids and grandkids, so the plots meant for apartment buildings suddenly mattered. What got built was denser than anyone had planned.
People from other parts of town gave it a nickname I won’t repeat here.
Respect in a place like that isn’t earned. It goes to whoever scares the others most.
So we built our own playground on our small plot. Within weeks, the sandbox, the playhouse and the swing were taken over too. (There wasn’t room for a slide.) Today we live behind 2.40-meter privacy fences. We walled ourselves in.
Now the next plan is on the table. There’s always a next plan.
Annika’s town is made up. The way respect works there isn’t.
Take the first bite: Poison Apple, out October 13. 🍎
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