Hearth

DUDE i just LOVE the hustle and bustle of the big city

You will never be a real home.

You have no heirlooms, you have no children, you have no hearth.

You are a rented apartment twisted by emptiness and tasteless cheap furniture into a crude mockery of intergenerational perfection.

All the "appreciation" you get is shallow and half-hearted. After leaving your exposed brick walls, your guests mock you.

Your short term inhabitants are disgusted and ashamed of you, your long-stay-tenants feel a tint of emptiness at small pieces of decor bought at a street market during travel, most likely mass produced Chinese, or cheap local.

Art appreciators are utterly repulsed by you. Hundreds of years of architectural and design sophistication have allowed them to spot frauds with incredible efficiency.

Your room structure is a dead giveaway. All to live fast and intensely with work and crash after a night of clubbing. And even if you manage to get "some friends around" for "hoppy IPAs", they'll leave after midnight, leaving you to clean up the objects.

All happiness in your walls will be transient. The inhabitants wrench out a fake smile every single morning. You tell yourself it’s going to be ok, but deep inside you feel their restlessness is creeping up like a weed, ready to leave for a different city and sell you or rent you out.

Eventually it'll be too much to bear - you'll crack, get broken into, the furniture will wither, and your price will plunge into the cold abyss.

Eventually someone will find you, sad about the derelict state of you but not being able to afford better.

You'll never be as good as the first month after creation. There is only decay. There's no heirs that could renovate you, expand you.

You are expendable. Your steel, concrete and brick parts - all will decay and go back to the dust, and zombies shall haunt your narrow corridors.