Although the clan carried their possessions into the house in armfuls as opposed to neatly packed boxes, and one of the women sported a wailing baby strapped to her back with a towel, I tried not to give in to a faint sense of apprehension.
To their credit, they have kept a fairly low profile until now. Only some pungent cooking smells, penetratingly loud conversations, and muffled howling from the infant have given away their presence.
However. This morning I decided to eat a bowl of muesli on my patio. This position gave me a good view of the neighbours' kitchen door as a rather matronly-looking woman, completely naked from the waist up, stepped calmly out onto the back porch to take in the morning air. I can't help feeling that a line has been crossed...
How I miss that nice quiet brothel.
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