Dear diary
the lost savages of a dead civilisation have begun to live amongst us and it's not until you intrude their hives do you realise that they've learnt absolutely nothing about this world, still quietly and tediously living an arid quadrant of existence where love and celebration for life has not yet steeped into their pre historic skulls.
Music and laughter is still considered taboo and joy is mostly relegated to a few moments almost every alternate day.
The thriving noises that seem to suffice and mostly form the subcutaneous hide of the house are whistling pressure cookers, mono channel stereo noise from television of grey-cell terminating soap serials and news, the dragging sounds of feet plodding on marble floors and heart thunking clashes from utensils clanging on each other in the sink that resembles a landfill sometimes.
I have unfortunately intruded upon one such hive and now find myself edging closer towards complete paranoia.
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