this land has grown and changed with the passing seasons. weeds creep between cracks in the pavement. birds nest in the eaves of the pitched roof, undisturbed for generations. the hanging sun-bleached sign dangles unevenly from a broken chain, creaking softly in the breeze.
though the surrounding town has evolved with time’s ceaseless impatience, the restaurant alone remains untouched. as if it is perceived as little more than a half-glance at the corner of one’s eye. it escapes demolition, renovation and damnation.
and when the wind blows just right — one might think they can scent the aroma of searing meat on the air. if they follow their nose, it may lead them here… but their gaze is untrained and therefore weak. they cannot perceive the relic, for they could never understand its significance.