торгую догмами и эскапизмами.
It was a normal town. A town like many others. It was a quiet street. A street like many other streets. It was an average house. A house like many other houses. It was old, but well built. They say this house was the first one of its kind. All the others were just duplicates. However, it doesn’t matter to us. The house was built of red brick. It had a main entrance, which was like a big mouth devouring everyone who went into it. It had many windows, so it looked like a multi-eyed creature. Curiously enough, all the eyes were never open all together. The house wasn’t very tall, (only about 8 floors and the ground) but it was surrounded by same-type-houses, so no one noticed.
Every morning the house woke up very early. Every night the house went to sleep really late. Some days the house would feel down and low, but other days it felt young and fresh. Once a year, an old gentleman came to check on the house. The gentleman looked whether it was in good condition or not. He used to talk to the house and the house used to listen.
- Good morning, ol’ pal. How is it going this year? Oh, I see you’ve got a new crack right here, - and it was certainly true because the house had many little cracks on it. The house used to think they were wrinkles. You can’t get away from them, can you?
- Just look at this! They broke one of your windows! – the old gentleman exclaimed. He was right again. When little children used to play soccer by the house, they broke its window. They broke its glasses.
- And what happened here? Did they have an art contest? – the old gentleman used to ask, when he saw writings and drawings on the walls of the house. The house itself thought of them as tattoos. It was an old house, but it was still cool.
Each year the old gentleman smiled and used to write in his report that the house was in satisfactory condition because the old gentleman loved the house. It was where he grew up.
This year it was all different. The old gentleman didn’t come when he was supposed to. He didn’t come the next day, nor the day after that. Only a week after, a middle-aged man came in. He was the new inspector. The man went through the house. He didn’t talk. He only shook his head, frowned and wrote something down in his report. The old house got scared and all its wrinkles, broken glasses, tattoos and other weaknesses became even more noticeable.
The next day the news came in. The house was to be repaired and reconstructed. All of its habitants were to leave the house within two weeks. The government gave them a temporary habitat nearby. The old house was sad, when he saw everybody abandoning it. It would have cried, if it only could. In two weeks, the house was absolutely empty.
The reconstruction went by quickly. The house was now clean, repaired and looking absolutely wonderful (like someone after a successful plastic surgery). All the windows were replaced. The walls were writing-free, the cracks were fixed, the lobby was renovated. There was even some work done in the apartments themselves. Everything looked perfect. People started moving back in the house. They were happy to get back there. The sat on the stairs, they opened the windows, they filled the place with joy… but something wasn’t the same… The old house was dead.
Every morning the house woke up very early. Every night the house went to sleep really late. Some days the house would feel down and low, but other days it felt young and fresh. Once a year, an old gentleman came to check on the house. The gentleman looked whether it was in good condition or not. He used to talk to the house and the house used to listen.
- Good morning, ol’ pal. How is it going this year? Oh, I see you’ve got a new crack right here, - and it was certainly true because the house had many little cracks on it. The house used to think they were wrinkles. You can’t get away from them, can you?
- Just look at this! They broke one of your windows! – the old gentleman exclaimed. He was right again. When little children used to play soccer by the house, they broke its window. They broke its glasses.
- And what happened here? Did they have an art contest? – the old gentleman used to ask, when he saw writings and drawings on the walls of the house. The house itself thought of them as tattoos. It was an old house, but it was still cool.
Each year the old gentleman smiled and used to write in his report that the house was in satisfactory condition because the old gentleman loved the house. It was where he grew up.
This year it was all different. The old gentleman didn’t come when he was supposed to. He didn’t come the next day, nor the day after that. Only a week after, a middle-aged man came in. He was the new inspector. The man went through the house. He didn’t talk. He only shook his head, frowned and wrote something down in his report. The old house got scared and all its wrinkles, broken glasses, tattoos and other weaknesses became even more noticeable.
The next day the news came in. The house was to be repaired and reconstructed. All of its habitants were to leave the house within two weeks. The government gave them a temporary habitat nearby. The old house was sad, when he saw everybody abandoning it. It would have cried, if it only could. In two weeks, the house was absolutely empty.
The reconstruction went by quickly. The house was now clean, repaired and looking absolutely wonderful (like someone after a successful plastic surgery). All the windows were replaced. The walls were writing-free, the cracks were fixed, the lobby was renovated. There was even some work done in the apartments themselves. Everything looked perfect. People started moving back in the house. They were happy to get back there. The sat on the stairs, they opened the windows, they filled the place with joy… but something wasn’t the same… The old house was dead.
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