Sunday best in the middle of nowhere.

A pale afternoon stretched across immaculate lawns.

The houses stood in perfect agreement, their windows reflecting a life nobody quite remembered choosing.

Beneath the polished chrome, a faint smell of petrol.

Beneath the pretty dresses, an appetite for something vaguely indecent.

Even the roses seemed to have been taught good manners.

Somewhere between the driveway and the front door, a peculiar unease began to bloom.

A slender figure wandered through the deserted streets, as though searching

for an address that had never existed.

The clocks had stopped making sense.

The neighbours had vanished.

Behind the curtains, an entire generation of forbidden desires was quietly fermenting.

Everything looked terribly respectable.

And something was about to go wrong.