Diary of an Abandoned House
It sat on a fenced-in corner lot, a nice looking, pseudo-brick house, 2, maybe 3 bedroom, complete with a garage bordering the alley, if Detroit still had working alleys that is. Not sure what to call them now. Empty Space formerly known as Alley?
Two majestic pines dominate the front yard of this place. I mean these are some beautiful pine trees. The backyard is open, sunny, good garden space. A vine covered north wall and half dozen empty lots beyond that give it an air of solitude.
The other day, out with the Big Dudes, I noticed something different about the house. There was an eerie stillness to it, as if a long breath had been exhaled, never to be replaced. In this town, abandoning a house it equivalent to dumping an ailing cow in the middle of the desert. The Evil Scrappers will descend like Vultures and tear it to shreds, rip out its essential parts and scatter all else to the wind.
I hear there is legislation being proposed that will toss a few hurdles in the path of these degenerate scrapper bastards but it comes a little too little a little too late for far too many houses in my city, houses that could have been saved, lived in again. Once they’ve had their way, a dumpster, a top loader and a stick of dynamite is about all you can do with what’s left.