by johannespunkt

There is a human sitting on a windowsill, staring out over Brisbane. Cars zoom past each other, visible only as small foursomes of eyes, two yellow and two red. She is sat in a structure that is just a shape, filled with colourful wallpaper and stale air. There are moving boxes and pizza cartons full of crusts. They are stacked neatly, so she can barely see the wallpaper. Maybe the open window will let some real air in, maybe tonight she will open one of the boxes and hang her clothes in the wardrobe. This structure could become a home.