That was the part that still stuck with him—not the cars, not the noise, not even the signs being torn down. It was the carelessness. He’d always believed that people might not be naturally good, but they could at least be considerate.
These weren’t starving families seeking refuge—they were shoppers who couldn’t be bothered to walk an extra thirty seconds. By 8:00 a.m., he heard the first engines arrive. One, then three, then six vehicles rolled into his southern field like they had every right to it. People parked in sloppy rows, engines cooling as their owners disappeared into the SilverMart.