The history of the city can be told by its doors and doorknobs. Doors, like people, carry the scars of hardships and the scars of the pain inflicted by the years, which they, like people, sometimes can hide, some others, not.
Doors also provide the city with a soundtrack of rusty hinge sounds, of slams, and clicks, and screeches.
But unlike people, so given to move from place to place, doors remain, protecting what was left inside. Committed to their mission, they are the ones that set the limits between what’s public and what’s private; between legal and illegal, between enemity and endearment.
After all, people are also sort of similar to doors, as we either chooseto remain close to the world, or happily open to others and welcome change.
