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With Respect To My Old Home

I’m sitting in the driveway of my house in Kings Mountain. I stopped by to pay my respects and jot down some information from the notices taped to the door. In my absence various human maggots have crawled over the carcass, and I’d personally like to know who gave them the right. The house has not been sold, to my knowledge. So until I know for sure that it has been, I still consider this to be my property. Sure, the bank has been telling me for some time that they’re proceeding with foreclosure, but as far as I can see they never did. At least not yet. Until they do, my name is on the deed, and I’ll hold accountable anyone who trespasses.
Lost causes. I know. The house is gone. There’s nothing I can do to change this situation. But as I sit here, looking at the empty husk that used to be a home, I find a hot fire burning in my heart that the Universe hold the person and persons responsible for this crime accountable. This is a bitterness that will never go away as a long as this house sits here empty, as if waiting for my return.

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