New Listing

The walls are breathing, bending in to exhale, bowing out to inhale, in and out through the window, pushed into the hallway through the open door, a mouth with a rug for a tongue, nerves of electrical wire running beneath the thin skin of plaster, blood running through veins of copper piping, and a voice calling to me, summoning me to follow down that maw ingot the gullet of darkness, to be digested in the bowels, the basement of this house, where the angry boiler pumping steam awaits, to convert my carbon into fuel, to absorb my bones to make new bricks to cover the scaly outside of this quaint victorian three-bedroom must-see property.