He was a very old man, and he found it hard to walk. But he got around somehow. He arrived at Oudgaanbos on his broomstick, which had old pram wheels attached for easier landings. The landing was smooth though it kicked up a lot of dust, which caught up with him, and now enveloped him. He coughed a bit, the rasping cough of a lifetime smoker, and waited for the dust to settle.
 Niekanwerk had told him of this place, in fact recommended that it would be the ideal place for him to retire. Niekanwerk had been helping him these last few years, since he had the fall and found it difficult to get around. And getting around was vital when you had to do at least thirty dustbins to get something to eat.
 The dust settled and the old man looked around him. The road was a yellowish sand and some wooden structures could be made out not far away. He shuffled towards them, dragging his broomstick, a bag on his shoulder with his worldly possession in it.
 Not a soul was in sight.