While Growing Under the Nast Smell of Pleasure

Some plastic toys left behind and forgotten, with mold and moisture raining down from the ceiling. Their colors have changed, turning into hues that tell you how many years they have been standing there. There is no one to go downstairs anymore. The lock of the door is rusty and the iron scissors that will cut the lock are broken because they were used for other things. Why does the decay of matter prevent the existence of a living thing to land here? I don't remember where the toys came from, they might have been a gift from someone or I might have bought them from the antique market in the city where I used to live. While I cannot understand how time has passed so quickly, I am not in a po...View all