Dec 2018 – My Old Indiana Home

The house was a vivid reminder that the seventies were real, and that hippies once existed. Its classic red-brick, white-plaster exterior belied a ceiling lined with mirror tiles and a shag carpet that might have once been electric green. Decades of dust had darkened the furry fabric into a puke color, and the hardwood flooring of one bathroom had grown soft, like carpet. The termite inspector later took out a chunk of the ground, creating a hole that connected the house with the crawl space beneath the bathroom, so that the toilet rose like an island in the midst of a drained pond, from a pit as wide as a kiddy pool and as deep as my waist…

Essay available at These Fifty States

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