The roof of the house is still full of discarded waste. Rotten wood, broken plastic bags, broken plastic bags, rotten wood… So every time I open the window, my heart is always covered with a layer of gray, and I feel lazy. Nothing can be seen, the wastes are black, different degrees of black, dissolved into the impure black air. There are only a few white spots looming, perhaps discarded with the rotten wood, but the nails are still strong and have not rusted. The fuzzy cat moves slowly and silently in the fuzzy night among the garbage piles of the fuzzy roof. "Because, God knows, in the night, what the cat will be. … Continue readingWhat Is She At Night?