Water dripping from her hair, soothing floral smells of soap and shampoo protecting her against the putrid smell all around, she walks back to her box of a room. But at the moment, it’s not suffocating. That fear of being choked under patches of plastic sheets does not bother her any more. Nor does the thought of the wobbly shanties coming down one night to bury her. It’s cool, quiet now – the world at peace with itself. A soothing breeze from the canal slips in through unseen gaps in the shack’s corrugated tin walls.