Facade

There’s a row of

Georgian Houses

to your

left

 

You walk by and ignore

Standard procedure.

 

Until the day you need to

investigate what lies

behind those

colourful,

doors

 

The dull

monochrome steps

receive you, cold and strong.

You close your fist around the

Brass door handle, frozen to the touch.

 

You lift the handle and let it fall

Standard procedure.

 

There is no response.

Deserted, empty, abandoned.

 

 

 

 

 

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