He put what was left of his life and soul into his building. The more he worked the more the entrance steps began to age with him. His hair turned grey while the front stairs turned to rust.
Whenever I come across a building that was once a business, a million things race through my mind. What happened to the business. Was it someone’s life long dream, or their impulsive whim? Did they pour their heart and soul into it to have it crumble and fail despite their efforts.
I stare at the art of this photo while I attempt to work on the rewrite of my book. The more words I type the more self conscious I find myself. The words feel cheap and immature. It creates the desire to scratch the book and start a new idea. I wonder if this is my procrastination at work, or a genuine assessment.