The end, or, back to the beginning?
This humble bungalow is tucked away in the south end of the hilltop, where it had sat unoccupied amongst its neighbors since I started taking this route home.
A few months ago, this felt like a place that the wrecking ball had yet to come -- boarded up houses near an old brick school, a tetris piece fragment of a neighborhood from days past. Why do these things speak to me?
It'd be a brave bet to move in here, but, it could be a rewarding one. A fairly flat lot with an expansive view of the bay down the hill -- beautiful, if you, like yours truly, consider a working waterway in an old industrial city beauty. A great deal of morning sun.
You could fall down the hill and wind up downtown, such as it is.
I couldn't resist turning the lens inside the place. Torn down to the studs. Construction types -- this is an indication that someone cares for the place, right? They are restoring it, not just stripping it?
If it was scheduled for demolition, why would one bother to carefully pick out the interior, but leave the studs in good shape?
I feel the same way that people feel about these houses, I think, as some do when they see a cold, lonely puppy. Even if it's a bad idea, you just want to