They were territorial. And they were emotional. It was a matter of time before DMZs emerged.
Time eventually buried their burial sites. It was a matter of time.
I live in a barrel. It was a barrel. Now it’s more a memory of a barrel than a barrel. My world is framed by what is left of a barrel – my barrel.
This is the site where humans used to converge to in order to exchange pieces of paper called money with things called goods. For the briefiest of moment, humans felt meaningful and happiness felt attainable.
Wear and tear, and cigarette burns, and WWII.
Significance commanded by that which is present is conferred by significance commanded by that which is no longer present.
The Ghost in the Machine (Arthur Koestler)