The door swung open and the smell that drifted out was both stale and putrid. The tap dripped ominously into a sink full of greasy plates. Beer cans lined the window sill, twenty seven of them. The bread on the side had patches of green mould; half a carton of milk congealed quietly next to the kettle. A rattle of gunfire came from upstairs so they followed the sound. Three boys, hunched over controllers in the dark were battling for supremacy at the end of the universe. One glanced up and nudged his neighbour.