Two houses on the same street, side by side. One old, one new.
You look to the left. This is the house that Pete built. The seller has made a generous offer -- you'd be a fool not to consider it.
Newly constructed, it has everything. Digital cable in the living room, a beautiful kitchen equipped with more built-in appliances than you know what to do with, and a state-of-the-art security system. But those aren't the big selling points.
The bedroom comes furnished -- paintings, curtains and a bed, all in vivid hues of blue and yellow that simultaneously excite and comfort you.
You adore that bedroom.
The backyard is kept freshly mowed. There's a swing set and sandbox there. And a pool.
Definitely a fool not to consider it.
You look to the right. This is the house that Jack built. You knew you wanted it when you first drove past all those years ago. The seller has finally put it on the market, but guardedly so for the sale's contingent on a long escrow and there's a chance the deal could fall through.
It's an older house. It creaks in places. The shingles have faded from weather.
But there's just *something* about it. Something you can't put your finger on.
It certainly isn't the giant stuffed fish in the living room or the beer bottle collection in the kitchen. And it's definitely not the bedroom -- walls white and bare; that room, while showing promise, is empty.
Why exactly do you love this place?
The backyard is overgrown and untended -- a small, rusted-out Schwinn tangled in the growth.
This house needs the most work and the price is higher, but yet...
You stand on the silent street, debating.
Both could make you happy. Both could make you regret. Both come with basements full of crap.
You stand on the quiet street, dreaming.
What would your life be like in these places in five years? Ten? Thirty?
You stand on the still street, choosing.
You wonder if you'll have to keep the stuffed fish.
