"We finally go home. Our house might not satisfy some but to me its heaven. The plaster has holes in it. Inside the holes are slats with brownish horse hair poking through, that resembles nose hair, and on the hair are microscopic flecks of plaster strung like beads. Other holes are haphazardly patched and bulge like cysts. The kitchen floor is chipped and broken. The poor always take chances as our appliances are all connected to the few working outlets by a mish mash of frayed crisscrossing extension cords. One spark could burn down our house and send us back to Grammy’s, providing we survive." -- Friend of the blog Gary Floyd
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