On the outskirts of a large metropolis, against the backdrop of skyscrapers, there stands in the haze a gloomy old, shabby, half-ruined, stone house with a slanted roof and broken windows, overgrown with ivy, on the walls of a private house. Desolation and chaos are felt everywhere. The blackened chimney on the roof has collapsed and fallen. The door is locked with a rusty padlock. Old, dried-up, twisted trees with growths stand without leaves, overgrown with moss with broken branches. Despondency and a deserted house. Here and there, in the grass, household utensils can be seen. In the foreground, there is only a large, old, shabby, darkened pages, a photo album with yellowed and faded family photographs of portraits of unknown people. It lies in the foreground, visible to the viewer. The pages are open. In the mud on the porch among the trash. The wind carries the yellowed ones. the path to the gate is overgrown with weeds and strewn with dry leaves and thorny bushes. crows are sitting on a rusty iron bed near the wooden fence