"Run, run, run" , said the house.
"Run, from the haste of making dreams out of lies. Run, from the desire to shrink and shirk histories from the grains of your heart. Run from me, for I am but a one in a thousand, just some 'concept' derived from man's greed for purpose."
"For I am alone, and those who dwell in me become aliens to their own sinews, their very own hearts."
And the streets, they ran around her in a spiral, not so centred after all but on a trail, still...to a vacuous continent we call, space.
The papers call them homes with a green lawn.
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