Yellow steps in old pine, part of a wooden staircase once collapsed now revived. Collapse, revive, breathe in, and out. Repeat. Stairs are very high, ideas are very strange. I remember hanging over the banister and scraping off the paint. With nails first, until a vicious fleck like a tack jabbed itself under the soft skin. I sucked and swore. Haven’t counted but approx. 20 steps. Yellow paint on each step flakes off. Yellow flakes and particles of filler can be found at the end of each step and in the far reaches of my lungs where they have been sucked in by my breath. At the bottom end of the staircase is a bright yellow rectangle, are you aware?
A platform. On the left is a metal bannister and on a blue chalk circle is draw on the upright support. There is a bench on the right of the walkway with a black dedication plaque that reads Fred something. Black posts are situated on the left of the ripped screen from tail end to top. They are painted black with yellow stripes at the base of their pillars. Poster frames are attached to the brick wall with still sagging slops of old glue. There is also a plastic bin: empty, but a rolled up news paper. On the left of the screen is a door, painted in the shape of a door. The paving stones are grey with darker grey chewing gum islands spreading out across its surface. Towards the left of the screen there is the grain of nosing stones. A new path is to the left and if I only ever knew where it would lead, I would have never started to scrap off the paint for her.