So tell me: how do you hope, night after night, staring at the dark windows of homes, at the darkness squatting in the midst of it.

What do you see in the dark? Something indistinct, some form too lovely to pass.

Give me this this ability to see things unseen.

Even the dirtiest fly has this hope.

And you, tunnelling through the night with your treasures, you have it too.

You amass hope. More hope than money.


How if you learn a new word: trade.

Let us trade our lives.

I give you everything, and you give me that.