Dust of artist past. As time moves on a building stands still, a shadow of its former self. The beauty and elegance dulled by age and neglect. The shallowest of breaths as to not alert others of her presence. That this once grand lady be allowed to fade on her terms. Alas, unable to flee from the men who seek to remove her heart. The very heart that once pulsed life through the bricks and mortar like veins... Darkrooms used as storerooms. Playhouse now warehouse. Playwrites lament for they know its not right. The birthing suites of such creativity now abused and left for dead. The art forms which began their journey here have journeyed on and scarcely think to look back. Abandoned. Surviving on the memories of glory past though slowly losing her battle as she chokes on box upon box of stuff.
