Monday, June 27, 2005

Maybe Sid & Nancy Hung Out Here and Shot Up

The Mr. told our Awesome Neighbor George, who is awesome because he clears our walk after it snows without even being asked, about our little encounter the other night.

George theorized that they were friends of one Crackhead Todd. Literally a crackhead. Who hasn't lived in our house for, like, 2 years. So, they couldn't have been very great friends if they haven't gotten the message by now. I don't think crackheads leave forwarding addresses, either, because we still get his mail.

We didn't buy the house from him -- he neglected it in favor of the crack, naturally. Another Todd (shall we call him NotCrackheadTodd?) bought it from him, restored it and sold it to us at a profit that made us wonder if we were in the wrong line of work. Still wondering that.

If you ever own an old house, maybe you wander through the rooms and think about what may have taken place there in the days of yore. Maybe a couple danced a minuet in your dining room before the husband had to ship off to the Revolutionary War. Maybe that worn spot on the floor is from some sassy flapper dancing the Charleston circa 1929. Perhaps there were wounded Civil War soldiers in our living room, marinating in morphine. Maybe George Washington had some friends who lived here, and he liked to swing by in the middle of the night after a long day of riding around on his horse and pound on the door in search of a light for his pipe, and hop back on his horse in a huff when the tenants wouldn't answer.*

I can't say I ever pictured a crack den, but it sure is cute, isn't it?

*OK, our house isn't really this old, but the flapper thing was the only cool thing I could think of that happened in the 100 years our house has existed. I mean, it's not like Andy Warhol and Nico stopped by here or anything. Don't be ridiculous.