The Chair

The old church was burned down by drug addicts years ago.

It has lain, bereft of roof, since then. Open to the elements, no longer a home or shelter to clandestine use of substances.

I checked it out for a blip.

I found the chair. someone has sat here, in a plastic chair, to drink strong lager. Warm, I suspect.

Around the corner, ten yards from the main road, is a fireplace. More empty cans and another chair. Why just one?