the weeds engulfed it. a boarded up window, a few stickers on the front door glass, imminent doom waited behind the gate. squatters, thieves, junkies, crack heads, and those looking to make a dime on someone's misfortune were putting their noses in the air catching the scent of rotting dreams.
is this what I wanted?
one more thing to occupy a mind busy with leaving it all behind, one more thing to care about, one more thing to curse for robbing my freedom?
I nosed the '68 up the drive and shut it off straining to hear the silence as it rolled to a stop. the attraction was magnetic.
like sitting inside a vintage Porsche as it took you through a deserted highway at 3am, a deeper connection develops. I felt this as I approached the living room window and rested my hand on the cold stucco wall while looking in.
the beamed ceilings and pegged wood floors framed the pristine white walls and stone fireplace left untouched for nearly three years. the time and labor I'd put in here wouldn't be wasted, glancing to my left at the 968 reminded me.
one more trip to the Depot, one more week before the bolt arrives, one more reason to stop and walk away from it all.