Brick everywhere. Bare brick. But bricks here are full of air. Light as feathers. Seem to be stuck together with the froth off Guinness tops. The chairs are no better. Sticky, wet, and black. There is no way out.
Candles light the room with a soft liquid that is the only thing with the sufficient viscosity to hold everything together. But, it’s loosing it’s grip. The shadows are winning and nothing will ever be the same again. The once bright smiles and bright eyes are becoming black holes and dark rooms. The warm greetings that began as kisses and coos are turning into cold bites and profanities.
Everything is a criminal here. Everything!
