34/365 - Our house

My father, trying to look over the wall at what was once out house. We couldn’t find it at first. Not only was the wall white when we lived there, it also only came up to that line at about waist-height. Luckily, some security gueards further down the street remembered the egg-man, which enabled my mother to identify the house.

When we’d see all we could see peeping through the gate and stretching to glimpse over the walls, and gone only a few meters, the people who live there now arrived home. I wonder what they would have thought had they turned the corner just a tad earlier…

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