There’s always an old woman who lives on the top floor of the city’s empty buildings.

On the last flight of stairs, potted plants are scattered across the wooden landing, climbing up benches, and colorful plastic basins catch the water from the rain and the drying laundry. Because at the top of the stairs, beneath the broken skylight, the old woman who lives on the top floor has created a web of ropes where she hangs towels and white sheets, painted in all colors by the light from the stained glass windows.

In addition to this web, the old woman has also installed a rope that connects the heavy street door to a small bell, which rings when someone comes to visit.

Tied to the wooden handrail, there is another rope that opens the makeshift gate on the last flight of stairs to let visitors through.

Yet another rope holds a bucket of food that is lowered from the balcony to the backyard every day, where the cats live.

One day, without the old woman, the house will be lifeless – a forgotten puppet, still, without hands to manipulate it.