It dreamed of getting out once again someday. In its wildest dreams, it was traveling again. A room, a door, another door and then, a street. Outside, there will be annoying wind bites, there will be intoxicating cigarette smoke, and the turtleneck will embrace a warm human body. The fantasies were almost real and it seemed to the turtleneck that this would certainly hap-pen soon.

Its neighbors, other old, forgotten clothes, had long aban-doned the last threads of hope and believed that no one needed them. They blew dust off each other and that was their only entertainment. The apartment with that brown chest of drawers, where the tur-tleneck lived, got sold with all the junk. The new owners were plan-ning to remodel it ‘to European standards.’ Chairs, a table from the 50s, a wardrobe with a missing door got dismantled and sent to a landfill. But there was a young architect who liked the old chest of drawers.

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