Thieves

Like most large cities, London has its drawbacks.

‘Its location carefully posed right next to my favourite part of the city — Bloomsbury, which is home to academics, writers, and Palestinian protestors. A place with three universities and blue plaques marking where people like Keynes, George Orwell, and Virginia Woolf once lived. An area with the best carts of falafel and hummus wraps. But like most central areas in large cities, it has its drawbacks.’

This May, while Masha and I were still living in that luxury-of-a-place that is a two-bedroom apartment near Russell Square in London — a sight unseen even by tech bros and 6’5” men in finance (with trust funds) — things began to disappear.

It was mostly the little things: my left running shoe, our flatmate’s jeans, my right running shoe, cat toys, and our flatmate’s climbing gear.

Pretty much everything we put out on the terrace — the size of my current living room and kitchen combined — sooner or later, vanished. Which was odd, given that the balcony was also filled with expensive garden furniture, plants, potted trees, and other items we left outside because we couldn’t find a place or use for them inside.

My immediate reaction was that someone was stealing.

‘It’s the hobos,’ I said to Masha, one day, standing in the middle of the living room with my hands on my hips, resembling a police officer from a French comedy.

Used to my bullshit, Masha eyed me with suspicion.

‘I’m telling you, they climb the balcony, take our stuff, sell it, and buy drugs with the money,’ I said again, this time with more conviction.