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Part worn clothes drape wardrobe doors,
limp as windless flags that clutter austere poles. Caught in limbo, their purpose unfulfilled neither here nor there. Whilst within, second skins stand sentry. Guises for the self-conscious assemble ready to do their duty, awaiting the call to arms. Bodies. Legs. A Roman orgy of leather and plastic, cavorts at nook bottom. Shoes swap partners laces entwining intimately, secretly fashioning odd couples. Cast-off's, never worn, and the outdated huddle like refugees in the fracas, striving to be inconspicuous, dreading the forced eviction of a Spring clean. |