The front of the house

You find yourself in Enschede, just beyond the bustle of the city centre. Before you stands a house of more than a hundred years’ age, its brickwork worn and crumbling in places, yet still upright and serviceable. The front door, painted a plain white and marked with a pair of mismatched numbers, offers a modest invitation.

The windows lend the façade its character: some divided neatly into small panes, another fitted with old leaded lights. Through this latter window a regiment of empty bottles can be glimpsed, lined up within as though on silent parade.

To the right, a narrow alley runs alongside the house. It is scarcely wide enough for a bicycle, yet it hints at hidden ways to the rear. The neighbouring houses crowd close on either side, their doors and windows watching without partaking.

The choice is yours: step through the front door, peer through the ground-floor window with its regiment of bottles, gaze up at the upstairs windows, or slip into the alley and see where it leads. Will you knock, will you pry, or will you sneak?