• Red, a dull one but red nonetheless. Dirtied on the outside, covered in graffiti- the passion of an artist unknown, unheard. On the other end, a small figure, playing with the cement, stacking the bricks like a child playing with blocks. She's learning how high it can go and how many layers she could build. There's a good width too, and she learns how far to build. Another figure, touching the graffiti…wondering what lies behind the first layer. There's bound to be no other layer? He chisels away, removing one by one the carefully placed bricks. He sets them aside to be seen still, the hardened clay intact, undisturbed save for their rearrangement. And as one layer is removed another is built in this endless cycle. She wonders if one day someone will come barging through, setting aside her tools, hoping she will let the spiders spin their sticky nests over them. Those tools…should be unused. He wonders how many more layers there are to go, and if there's anything there on the other side-could he handle what was there? He sure would try. And as their movements are simultaneous, one would imagine…They would never reach each other-but maybe her energy wears, slowing her progression. Maybe his desire swells, and he moves more fervently than before. It's just a brick wall. Built up to be broken down by whoever dares or has the nerve. And how she wished someone would before she buries herself…A cement coffin.