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Sunday Paper

House for Sale: A quiet street for families in a friendly neighborhood just eight streets away from the sea.

The large courtyard a nucleus to our home; teak wooden swing shaded by seasonal trees hanging low beneath years of late nights and gossip and barbecues.

The basement is tucked under; a wooden haven warm with memories of movie nights and snooker matches, haunted by the heavy stench of whiskey and smoke.

Antique treasures restored as modern coffee tables, sideboards and a dining table decorate the lounge, marrying aestheticism to the intangible feeling of nostalgia.

The top floor swivels around the home, encompassing the courtyard; the bright red and yellow hallway our very own yellow brick road to our three bedrooms.

Behind the stairs at the end of the hall is my son’s room, but now open to interpretation – it could be a sanctuary of comic books and movies, hidden cigarettes, and late-night rendezvous.

It has been storage for the suitcases we brought back from Boston, his life packed away, scattered around an empty room, his bed covered with sentimental empty consolation prizes we hold on to.

My wife uses it as her meditation garden, blooming with pictures, his memories mimicking the presence of life, his desk still cluttered with evidence that he was once here – the shadows in the dark make me wonder if he still is.

House for Sale: Four large empty bedrooms, a dog house and a cat bed – looking for a family to make it into a home again.


“That was my palace – the five of us is my home, then, now, forever.”


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