These are cities inside of cities, museums of trash. Styrofoam is like linoleum, lining the floors with takeout and to go cups.
The walls have been scarred–punctured here–an ancient sailor displaying the shark tooth that still lives in his thigh. There is wallpaper too, pink and blue and green, floral. There has been love here, hate and longing as well.
Monuments to loneliness and regret, these edifices are all part of a sprawling metropolis of rubble. Paint sags from the wall. Who has been here?
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