This short short story is part of the greater story which has the same title. Already, I can see the larger story being shaped by this snippet where the narrator shows the reader what it feels like to live in the slums but to pretend like you live in the suburbs. When the main character shows her schoolmaster her home, a third floor flat whose outer walls have peeling paint and makeshift wooden bars on the windows, the reader feels the shame of it with the narrator.
With crisp and vivid writing, this short story makes me want to read the remainder of the collection right now. I may just do that.