Blocks of flats

I’m fascinated with them. I don’t know how does it feel to live in pretty town. In little scandinavian cottages, in cool italian old buildings with a garden on the roof, in charming parisian tenement house where you walk through fancy gates. What it is like to drink espresso every mornig before your work, walking down the spanish streets, everyday in the same caffeteria, where you know the owner.
How do people function in high apartaments of Geneve, inherited after their grandmothers.
Easily I can tell that for me it’s like living on Mars.
I wonder what will happen with all those monstrous settlements that are big parts of each town and city of Poland. How they will look in 50 years, when now nobody wants to buy a flat that is in a building like that.
This was my childhood, form of coexisting with other people. Hearing their voices every day, smelling what they have for dinner, knowing who’s crying, who has little baby, who’s having a birthday party. Watching the same tv programs they watch. Being a part of a collective sorrow that never leaves this kind of places.

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