The back stairway was a passage,

an eye opening ritual of shadows and

whispers seeking shelter behind a familiar door.

Cracked plaster and numerous unknown stains are

illuminated by a single light, its wire descending

from a dark ceiling, faintly showing the way to go.

It was a space without quiet, a conduit from

here to there. A grazing landscape of up and down.

Footsteps tapped out intentions without pause.

Winter air flooded in. Summer melted transient

travelers. Visitors of all hours passed through,

finding their way.



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