Ghost Hotel #5

A stomped-out cigarette butt of a place. The ventilator is broken and the oxygen left the room decades ago. There’s mold on the cupboard and a hint of wood under the dust floor. Totally nuts of starvation, the last rat suffocated last week while eating a sudden snake which appeared to be his own tail.

Sun whispers though. Holy clouds of smokey rays penetrate the ever-closed windows. The piano in the corner starts playing spontaneously, all broken chords have a story to tell. You sleep in the dust, close your eyes and know well: you just love your stay in the ghost hotel.

Foto: © Caroline Barberis, 2009

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