The ballroom was empty now, just the gentle tap of a dripping pipe to accompany the dust motes that whirled and span in the light streaming in from the broken and partially boarded-up windows high up on the far wall while spiders tended the dry and rubble-strewn bar. “A nice and juicy semi-liquified fly, sir? Coming right up,” and the spiders raced away, egged on as ever by the pulsating dance beat of the dripping pipe in a far off corner of the room.
Advertisement
