Just like witnessing countless sunrises, before the first light of dawn, the mornings in Old Dunling are always so cold, as if in a deathly silent world, devoid of any vitality. Everyone is lying in the shadows, slowly decaying with the passage of time.
Lorenzo sat on the familiar sofa, surrounded by piles of old clothes stacked as high as small hills.
He seemed as if he was about to attend a serious meeting. This time he was dressed very neatly, his clothes already on, with his cane and coat placed beside him. However, possibly because the time had not yet come, Lorenzo sat quietly, listening to the radio broadcast.
The city remained silent. In fact, it had long been awake, or one could say it never slept. Invisible to the eye, workers moved through the hidden corners, and voices continued constantly on the radio.
Lorenzo tilted his head, closing his eyes in contemplation.
In the desolate room, the sound echoed.
