The coppery screeches of metal against metalorange dust floats down from the hingesrain pitter patters on the silvery paintof the old chain link fence.Breezes float in and out of the wirey criss-crosses.The sky is lavender.Cement holds the posts in place,the fence is leaning to the left.a frisbee and toy airplaneare amongst the litter on the front yard.As no one dares to cross the gate.At night, the lights of the other houses on the streetare lit. Except for this one.Dead branches shake against the windows and the gate screeches slowly.Rotting wood falls off the house.Lightning strikes and fire sparks.Slowly the house is burned.the fence leans to the left.1/28/10