Keys left in the lock, location named after its occupant, to expose identity. 3D smelled of wood chips, inscribed on 2D’s door were the words Bridges for Trolls. Keys jangled like a rusted bell as the door opened and revealed the sigh of relief. Losing the mechanism used to unlock self, moments to make the person. Key removal sequestered ambivalence in relation to wiping dust from the book shelf, disgust enacted toward human remnants. Tooth missing encouraged the repeated tongue jab to fill 3D’s grin, growing empty and entropy and age.
Rubber gloves on and cleaning crust from closed eyes.
Nostrils flared absorbing flour sprinkles casted off the unbaked cookies.
Radiator WHISTLING and expelling the history of old pipes
And growing empty.