Masquerade

“If you look inside the piles, you see bits of those dreams, along with bits of man’s little pleasures and vanities, now so useless to him.

A can of hair-styling foam. A door loosed from a cupboard but with the key still in the lock. A child’s clock in the shape of a happy cat holding a trumpet. A photo album. Packages of snacks, still sealed and air tight.

A concrete staircase, six steps high, standing alone where once, it is presumed, it was attached to the front door of a house. A steel girder, twisted like a licorice stick.”

Hugh Dellios. “Walking haunted streets,” [Letter from Banda Aceh] Chicago Tribune (January 16, 2005).