Summer of 2021. Carnival Squat. There were a corridor on the second floor that smelled of woodsmoke all the way through July. Middle of summer, not a fire lit anywhere in the building that Noris could account for, and it smelled of woodsmoke. Nobody could explain it. Someone said — and Noris thought they were probably right — that old buildings have their own memory. That they hold what happened in them whether anybody asked them to or not.

Noris files that here for the record.