It was a small house of three floors in the city center and that day he died. Yesterday, he was standing, though battered and jury, but actually - with his spirit and history.
It was a lot of moves and hidden skeletons in the closets. In the minds of people preserved memories associated with its peeling plaster.
Now he exists in their memoirs.
A few weeks ago last free piece of land around it has taken a new pit, which began to climb new urban monster without meaning and soul. Little house almost can’t breathe. All sun selected glass monsters.
For about six months ago in front was a glimmer among the skyscrapers that allowed home, even
twilight when the sunset, admire him. Along with him was his old friend - a wooden hut that was here earlier than him. Her death was for a small house a real blow, but he could deal with it.
A year earlier there was a park nearby, where he could often see young mothers with children and
pupils and students of the University near his neighborhood. Though he is small, but outside the
center was quite impressive size. At that time the building was for a small enough space, enough air
and light. He lived his life as before – for about a century, life around was changing, but very slowly.
He was born during first grandiose construction boom and he was a child revolutionary fracture.
Residents said then that the city was destroyed. And now a small house destroyed.
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