My house is not ordinary. It came from an uncommon start. My neighbor, having lived across the street all her life told me all about it. When the old mine shut down, the owners told the miners they could take haul their shacks off the mountain and do what they pleased with them. My lot, purchased by one of those miners was prepared for two of those cabins. The old man built a foundation and did a good job of cobbling together those cabins into a small house. My neighbor says she has photos somewhere of a wedding on the lawn in the 50’s.
Next, a couple of young meth-heads bought the place and tried to add onto the house with little more ability than I have. The result is a sub-standard dwelling. A hovel. Then I came along. With little more than good intentions, I dumped all my crap in there and moved out after just a short time to live with my new girlfriend. It’s been sitting empty now for years. Mice moved in. Followed by cats. Spiders love it too. Mix in the fits and starts of construction and you get what you see now: a filthy hovel.
