Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Tale Weaver’s Prompt 15
It looked like any of the worn down buildings on the worn down street. Windows streaked and grimy; garbage piled up on the curb.
Every trip past, I swore I heard a saxophone wailing. Music and emotions coming from deep inside the soul and the store front.
I was curious. What had rooted in this desolate place where patchy grass and weeds were lawns and gardens.
The door wasn’t locked as if there was nothing to steal but the music itself. Echoing around me, reverberating against sagging walls and broken floor boards.
That’s when I realized. The building was the saxophone. The building was the music.
And should a developer wish to re-gentrify the street, I would be the one chained to the store front, daring the destroyers to take me with the building. We had become as one.