The summer after college I went to a party and met a dude who told me that recently he’d gone to Greece and, while staying on a remote island, noticed that there was a part of town where the buildings didn’t have windows on one side. The windowless sides of the buildings all faced a big hole in the ground, one of those dug-out blank spaces that appear in cities when something is midway through construction. But what distinguished this one was that no buildings looked at it; every wall purposely turned its face away. One night he got drunk and while walking home, he felt himself inexplicably drawn to the hole in the ground, the place from which all the buildings had closed themselves off. He stood at the edge, swaying in the breeze of his own nauseous body and felt an overwhelming urge to throw himself into the hole. He stood there transfixed, unable to pull himself away. Finally one of his friends called his name and it snapped him out of his reverie and he went home to sleep. He went back again the next night - the pull was stronger, he wanted to throw himself into the hole and could not possibly have explained why. The next day someone told him that the island was supposed to be where the sirens of old mythology had once lived, where their bones were buried. A few hours later, he decided to cut his stay short, and left.
Summers
Summers
Summers
The summer after college I went to a party and met a dude who told me that recently he’d gone to Greece and, while staying on a remote island, noticed that there was a part of town where the buildings didn’t have windows on one side. The windowless sides of the buildings all faced a big hole in the ground, one of those dug-out blank spaces that appear in cities when something is midway through construction. But what distinguished this one was that no buildings looked at it; every wall purposely turned its face away. One night he got drunk and while walking home, he felt himself inexplicably drawn to the hole in the ground, the place from which all the buildings had closed themselves off. He stood at the edge, swaying in the breeze of his own nauseous body and felt an overwhelming urge to throw himself into the hole. He stood there transfixed, unable to pull himself away. Finally one of his friends called his name and it snapped him out of his reverie and he went home to sleep. He went back again the next night - the pull was stronger, he wanted to throw himself into the hole and could not possibly have explained why. The next day someone told him that the island was supposed to be where the sirens of old mythology had once lived, where their bones were buried. A few hours later, he decided to cut his stay short, and left.