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* de minimis non curat praetor / the praetor does not concern himself with trifles.
Stores that have sunk and lie empty litter the streets like rotten teeth.
When people abandon a house, they leave behind them a trace of life, a point of reference for the eye that gazes over the empty space.
When merchandise vanishes, all that is left behind is the pitiful grime on the floor, torn pieces of paper, the showcase's cracked glass, the unjustifiable confinement of the void in concrete and glass.
The summer sun falls like a curse upon the empty shops --there are no curtains, no screens to reduce the glare, no shadows that things cast to hide the bare interiors. Light falls without mercy, as it does when it decomposes the flesh of a carcass in the desert. Passers-by instinctively avert their gaze, as they do at the sight of a corpse. Who wants to look at the showcases of failure, of the fear that tomorrow everything is going to be a little worse?
Original text at Through the loophole (in greek). Translated with the kind help of the author, Antonis RD.