There is a wardrobe in next door's back yard.
It is lying on its back, crooked, splayed diagonally, like someone who has fallen down drunk.
It's a sad sort of wardrobe. The white plastic coating is peeling off revealing the drab wood beneath. The door has fallen off and is now propped against a neglected shrub in a pot, revealing a shabby underbelly and a narrow mirror speckled with raindrops.
From here, I can see right inside the wardrobe and its meagre inner cavity. There is nothing inside it. It is just a very small, narrow wardrobe with no door. It is not going to take anyone to Narnia. It's just lying there, looking helpless, beside some damp, flattened cardboard boxes that are slowly disintegrating.
I keep expecting my neighbour will move it but every time I look out of the window, it is still there.