Seven-thirty exactly   The camp’s streets lie utterly bare, nothing relieving the loneliness of these ruined walls piled one atop the other like books tossed down unread. The plants that have sprouted and grown in the middle of the road, they made the place more desolated, like some additional sign that much time has passed since anyone last came here. Even the cats have abandoned this street.   In the distance the sun makes its daily drop to the horizon.   A last ray lights the scattered dust of this arid sunset. The place is wrapped in a deep silence disturbed only by the buzzing... more