Greyscales

In a tiny community tower block, with a hairy head of tv aeriels and wierd sheds, with a row of garages far below, near the vast oak door, with a rustic market out the front selling cheese and biscuits, in this place we sit in the blue kitchen having our breakfast.
Our tasks include washing the windows and creating the hills.
Already we slide into animosity.
Alone, two find an old fence from the world before and follow it. At the end they find a farm and the sad reminder of a laugh.