In a forgotten room of an abandoned building, a long dead security guard is still at his post.
His skeletal remains slowly collapse into the swivel chair where he sat each night drinking lukewarm coffee while observing the outside via an electronic eye.
But the monitor in front of him has been blank for many years.
Ragged strips of blue uniform still cling to his crumbling bones. His peaked cap, always too big, has now toppled off skull, falling upturned onto the floor where it catches raindrops from the leaking roof.
Yet amongst all this disintegration and decay, somehow a long, bony finger still hovers over the record-button of a cobwebbed VCR
Videotape! Get with the program, suerveillance state. Big Brother should surely be recording his security camera footage as high-resolution digital files these days.
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