brown wooden door

We stayed in a small flat tucked away in the party district. Once you walked through the main gate a strange image appeared before your eyes - the building seemed on the verge of collapsing. Crumbling plaster, shaky staircases, bent rails, abandoned furniture. As we climbed up, we saw that one of the floors was painted in a smoky blue colour. It looked serene, rusting even, in opposition to the image of neglect spreading around it.