You said we should look out further, I guess it wouldn’t hurt us. We don’t have to be around all these coffee shops. Now we’ve got that percolator, never made a latte greater. I’m saving twenty-three dollars a week.
We drive to a house in Preston, we see police arresting a man with his hand in a bag. How’s that for first impressions? This place seems depressing. It’s a “Californian bungalow in a cul-de-sac”.
It’s got a lovely garden, a garage for two cars to park in (“or a lot of room for storage if you’ve just got one”). And it’s going pretty cheap you say? “Well it’s a deceased estate… aren’t the pressed metal ceilings great?”
Then I see the handrails in the shower, a collection of those canisters for coffee, tea and flour, and a photo of a young man in a van in Vietnam.
And I can’t think of floorboards anymore, whether the front room faces south or north, and I wonder what she bought it for.
(If you’ve got a spare half a million, you should knock it down and start rebuilding)
Sometimes I Sit and Think, and Sometimes I Just Sit
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