“A physical reflection of mortality and the fragility of our lives. Right before us, slowly rotting away in a piss-stained bed. Used, abused and unloved. The sad sight of something that once was, that will never be again. What does it say about us, as humans? Our consumption, and dismissal. They serve as constant reminders of how short-sighted we choose to be when the reality is staring us in the face on every corner.

The slow demise of something we once loved. The relic of a past time, an essential that we choose to ignore, to hang up.”

Samuel Ryde