Whoever stucco’d this house should have their hands cut off. I don’t say that to be funny or cute. Stucco, aluminum windows, crappy gates… I hope you’re all happy. And handless.
I’m certain terrible things happen in this house all the time. But we’re not here to postulate such.
We’ve got 1947 to bring back.
Imagine the smell of cordite hanging in the air. The aroma of electrical cord against flesh. Bits of sofa wafting about along with these scents.
The only thing I love more than this house is accidental horseplay.