I visited my dear Uncle Philippos Kosmas' farm on the outskirts of Kastoria, in western Macedonia recently where he had a fur shop. I had a good reason for doing this, as my family and I have been trustees to his real estate holdings in the town since he passed away in 1966.
There was a person interested in the estate which consisted of a farm and a 60-square meter house, used mainly for storage.
As a result of break-ins and time, the house was so littered with ashes, cotton stuffing from dilapidated cushions, rocks, and dirt that I could hardly see the floor. Making my way back outside I stepped on a piece of flat metal, making a loud noise that startled the birds nesting in the fireplace.
After all, there were no doors nor windows to speak of. After walking for a few minutes towards the main gate, I suddenly decided to go back drawn to that piece of metal, perhaps it was a sign from my uncle's fur shop, I thought.
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