There's another foreclosed-on home not three blocks away - that I am aware of. This latest house sits on one of three of the busy crosstown streets in town, and still has Christmas lights hanging from the eaves.
The stickers and bank repossession notes are plastered on the front door in full view of the world, and the windows are naked, unblinking portals through which passersby can peer into the empty building. Some discarded items from a hasty move are now in evidence; most of it scattered around the front stoop or under shrubs along the walk to the driveway.
This makes six homes within my immediate neighborhood that I am aware of falling to the banker's gavel, but brings the total to more than one dozen for the whole of the surrounding subdivision-like area (this according to my friend, Sherry, our mail courier - she is in the unique position of knowing these horrible secrets).
I hadn't noticed the paperwork hanging on the house until just this week, but the house does somehow look more forlorn than I remember it looking over the very recent past. Perhaps it's the melting bits of snow, brown grass, and barren bushes adding to the lonely look of the place now that I can see another family has lost their fight against big business and low employment woes.
[shiver]
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