They knocked on our door at nine in the evening with a piece of paper telling us that our building has been sold and we need to find a new home. They are turning our apartment into condominuims, for sale to the highest bidder. And so we are homeless, again. We have some time to look for a new place, but that is not the point. We like our home. Our coffee shop. Our evening walk. Our park. Our worthless video store on the corner. Our chinese take-out restaurant.
The home of our first born.
We'll find a new home but, man, am I tired of moving.
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