My husband and I went to look at another house today. It was the forty-second property we’ve seen already this year. Having been outbid five times, we were forced to expand our search to areas deemed “neighborhoods in transition”. I wanted to be optimistic, but when we got out of the car there was a large mess of hair laying on the sidewalk like some lamented animal. I asked the showing agent about it. He laughed and said, “That’s called a tumble-weave.” I feigned a smile and grabbed my husband’s hand, afraid of what we might find inside.

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