Slumming, by Martin Reed

While working as a stockbroker in the 1980s, I developed a fascination for the dilapidated hovels about town. I found that many of those listed for rent were unlocked, and I took to sleeping in them, often securing myself in a closet. After one such cramped and chilly night, I became aware of a prospective renter in the room . . . a young woman, I surmised. It occurred to me that I couldn't be connected to this place at this time, and when she opened the closet door . . . Whereas, not five hours later, I was entertaining clients at the Turks and Bedouins . . .