They will remain as they are. Pressed in boxes upon each other after traveling around with infrequent peeks to the occasional curious yet unsuspecting at what are thought to have been prospects.

Years will grow dim and with that the narrowing of the road all the way to the confines of rest and finality. And either a pop open of the boxes or some murmur, an interest in nostalgia or was it not much more then that past will not know.

A classic who kept all to chance. Everything open except complete exposure. Greatest was this fear. Only the act was true and not the script. Revealing the product was seen as a failure. Otherwise obvious was any attempt to be a pipeline for a means.

What was this block that kept it all flat?