120

Dusty bottles lined the shelves of the derelict shop, their brilliant greens and blues lost below the grey-white layer. The dust was so thick that it built a layer over them that was more like fur, or else fragments of the old cobwebs that hung from the rafters above.

The dust lay thickly like winters first snow, but instead of being a spirit-raising brilliant white, it was a depressing dirty grey. To think that it was ninety percent dead skin cells was just revolting. As the children ran in and out the gusts of wind blew it into the air in great swirls and the light from the window illuminated the particles in their grisly dance.