The first sign
The first sign appears of those grey courtyards that plague the dismal unmapped and malnourished streets to the east. Comforting enough wood and yellow warmth, white walls, molding, is restricted from the neighborhood ambience by the forever sod patches shadowed grey grey grey staccatto punctuation of tedium.
A sandy, pale, grey, ashy, of-death pallour set back, facing one another under a high shallow porch roof through four slender columns. Frameless screen windows, dead aerials, sparklingly dull chainlink, and a crown of crossed dimensional lumber as the parapet of some overgrown Mississippi plantation manor.
God knows what these leaves are covered with.
