Greenplace

About this location

Greenplace has surrendered entirely to the undergrowth, with ivy and dense greenery swallowing both the weathered garden posts and the white brick exterior, whose broken windows now stare out over a forgotten yard. Inside, the light filters strangely—a faint glow pooling around a lone chair in one room, and a broken window casting red light down a peeling, debris-strewn hallway. Further in, rows of white chairs sit in a brick-walled space facing a darkened doorway, as if an audience was left waiting for something that never arrived. It's the kind of place where every corridor and empty room feels like it's been slowly decomposing for years, with no one left to notice.

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