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The Doll street.

The Doll street.

2 mins 153 2 mins 153

Street no. 9

Old Venice.

Ms. Sania and her two dearest neighbors were warming their rheumatoid bones in the winter sun reaching in through her window slats. The outside of windows was laced with fragrant blooms in vivid colors. 

"Ms. Sania I want some of your violet- peach ones for the seamstresses' hat." Ms. Paul said.

"Are you done with it, Ms. Paul?" Ms. Sania asked. The violet-peach exotic Roses, everyone's favorite flower were also the ones to wither first.

Amidst splashes of pink, the white-red, orange-green, black and blue, all the other sturdy variety of Roses helped to attract passing tourists to this otherwise dull lane. With the young leaving for bigger cities in search of greener pastures, this once busy street, bustling with business calls, giggles of young women and chattering of their children, had turned silent. These last inhabitants, these three women tried their might with their threesome adventure and passion to feel connected and keep their street lively. They made lifesize dolls of streets' residents dressed them up in real clothes, and placed at the doorsteps of their own empty houses. 

"Salutations ma'am, salutations sir." Unknowing tourists would greet them sometimes. 

These dolls would be mistaken for real people because someone would ask "Is there a cafe nearby?" much to the amusement of this greying gaggle.

This adventure of theirs had made their street popular on tourists map and kept them and the humdrum on the street alive.

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