Five minutes ago, I jumped off the pickup truck and ran into this dilapidated three-story building.
The first floor was built with stone bricks, the walls still unpainted, and the ground scattered with dirt, brick shards, and wood chips.
The stairs were made of concrete, with no railing installed yet.
From the second floor onwards, the materials changed to wood, and the roof of the third floor seemed to have been ravaged by a storm, most of it collapsed down to the first floor. If I wasn’t careful, I would step on sharp wood chips and nails.
As I ran, my skirt was torn by a nail, and I almost tripped. Luckily, I managed to grab the hem of my skirt just in time and barely made it to the second floor.
There was a wooden cabinet on the second floor, and inside it, a rusty utility knife,
