Dust collects in the corners and lines the walls where the tackstrip still evidences long-removed carpet. The walls are bare, and they wheeze through nail holes and pinpricks where photos once hung, breathing sorrow, groaning.
Few vestiges of the home’s occupants remain, save for the collection of beer, wine and liquor bottles atop a weathered piano.
Magnets still adhere to the refrigerator, advertising pizza joints, a funeral home and the House of Blues. Strange combination, but then, so were the roommates. Continue reading