Secret apartment

I was at the fair, the night before yesterday; it was a beautiful summer evening, warm, pleasant, all filled with the smell of vegetation. I met my colleague, E.. We strolled together between the attractions and the candy stands. She seemed very relaxed, friendly; I myself, while the day had been awful, was breathing easier and not thinking about the countless issues of discontent that had dotted my day. It was the place that did it. Not the village itself, perfectly banal and typical of the region with its endless main street, almost a single street (the fair itself being held on the soccer stadium of the commune, almost at the edge of the forest), but its geographical situation, lost in the hollow of this blurred area between Lunéville and Blâmont, where clearly nobody ever goes, apart from the people who live there, since there is nothing to do, almost no economic or industrial activity. This kind of area fascinates me. I imagine them (obviously wrongly) as places apart, almost without State, without police, without crime, without permanent media and commercial propaganda, without anyone who can find you there; places where you can hide indefinitely, in safety and peace, out of reach. I imagined myself not moving here but renting an apartment, which nobody would know about, a place to hide and recharge if I needed to, on a whim, in the middle of the night.