Windows onto the street.

This is just a diary of absences. Cruel ones. It's an open window into an arid landscape, a window which is not advertised, but can only be found if you seek me.

A dry and dusty room where old photographs sit on the mantel to be revered, where a man lets his ghosts prowl.

It is an open window. One through which you may enter. Or leave. I leave that to your judgement, my dearest reader.