Grey cement dust covered the boots of the builders, spotted only by occasional droplets of fallen sweat.
The carcasses of the buildings were completed, but little else. Wiring poked out of walls, interrupting the endless grey with tiny lacerations of colour as if scratching their release. There were walls, but windows and doors were empty sockets. Here and there a dried, caked old bucket, but nothing else, bar the dust.
These buildings were being erected over an old cemetery. Which perhaps explained why they appeared to many as skulls, and why the builders always left me when the sun set.