Them Next Door

Our next door neighbours used to be a couple of children (or maybe just one), some of smoking women (women who smoke outside) and possibly an old man. They were replaced one night with a group of reflective-jacketed men who have been gradually tearing out the belly of the house, layer by layer. I wish I had gotten pictures of the first few days, as this was an amazing sight: Piles of sofas, lamps, carpets and blinds. It's been wonderful to watch layer after layer of this house being pulled out from the inside and laid in piles in the front garden. When it first started, and I was opening my front door, I noticed that I could actually smell that distinctive smell of "other people's houses". It was strangely nostalgic, and even more so when the smell has dissipated by the next day. It is sad to think of the ingrained dirt and belongings of everyone who ever lived there being stripped away, and the house being left as an innate, dead shell. Also, I hope they don't smash the whole house down, because I think it's holding ours up.