The place had the ache of a middle school haircut and the desolation of the family drive way after a first divorce but it was home and that’s where he lived.

He appreciated the chipped stucco exterior of the bungalow and the way that some of the swirls were darkened at the tip like they’d been decorated with fire by a cake maker. The screen door was recently repaired and closed without the usual clamour and this had taken some getting used to.

He hovered at the front window looking out at the street. Residential. Neighbours cars parked under trees that were busy abandoning their leaves to the sidewalk. The woman in the house across the street with its pale siding was puttering away behind the thin orange curtains of her living room. Image @dunlaper