It was a strange little town, every house was five storeys tall
and had the same colour, ochre. The houses were built close
together, giving narrow, dark streets and no room for parks or
green spots. The well-to-do naturally lived on the top floor and
got some light, but it got darker further down and on the first
floor and basement, days were forever evening. The few shops
sold plastic flowers, cheese, red wine, macaroni and a dark sort
of bread that tasted of coal dust. Once this small town had been
a happy place, with tiny houses and kitchen gardens, but a new
leader thought it too chaotic, it also disturbed him that there
were so many dogs barking that he had them and the cat eradicated.
This was a sad town and its citizens had lost the ability to smile,
but this ended when a horse belonging to a gypsy trotted through
the town and for the first time the people saw beauty and laughed,
they laughed so much suddenly feeling free, that when their leader
spoke, they laughed at him too and later shot him dead with
120 bullets. The town is empty save for some eccentric people on
the top floors who hankered for the old system. People have built
tiny homes just outside the town; they keep dogs, cats and horses.
