Welcome to the Bijou
Sometimes the creepiest places are old.
There’s a smell to them of stale nicotine
and rancid oil.
The denizens are often as ancient
as the peeling wallpaper.
The plaster cracks mirror
the wrinkles on their faces,
stale faces with
down dropped corners.
Layer upon layer of age
ground in dirt flecked, peppered
perpendicular
boxes and scaffolding
sucked dry by time, tasteless;
their...
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