He loved how big the sky looked from the end of the street. Once you’d passed the tall houses and shed the creaky petrol station, and turned your back on the anachronistic lamp posts, and the trees they planted to make it feel like home, and got to the end, and looked up, the heavens consumed you like a burst of cool air after a long car journey, or the sudden splash at the end of a water slide. This is where the playing fields lived, but they were fenced to give the impression that this was the edge of the world. In a city of such loud claustrophia, the tranquility of the blankness was opium.