A house. THE house of your dreamsthe one you saw in a series, the one you always envied when you drove past, the one of your neighbors, who had a little more money, a little more taste, more space, fewer children. this house.
your houseYes pfatherYeswith its smell, with its crunch at the entrance, his doormat on which no one wiped their feetwallpaper which then gave way to gotelé which then gave way to stucco, with the wedding photograndparents, baptism, your communion and that of your brothers and sisters, your fifth birthday, obtaining a diploma, the grandchildren, silver frames and methacrylate frames, an old postcard stuck to ita master key so that the right table does not rub, old age is approaching nowOrand therefore the same smell, the same crack that It is never remedied.
He first apartmentshared, noisy, dirty, shabby, the scratched parquet floor, the refrigerator divided into shelves with its label, take turns in the bathroom and the common room. That of discussions and connectionsto swear to the owner that no, that no one entered except the tenantsthat smoking was forbidden, that this chip was already there.
That of vacationrented for a few days, with the same furniture and the same illustrations from everyone with the same inspiring phrases, don’t forget to rate your landlord, the key is in the lockerthe key is this, central, very well located, a little expensive, but so comfortable, so similar to living in this city, in this impossible, foreign and very expensive city.
That another inaccessible housepaid in installments, 20 years, 25 years in between, and we can’t do it. The one that we may have to abandon because we whisper, we suspect, that Sooner or later, the law on urban leases will undergo changesand how far the floor is going to rise, and when and at what point have we reached that, and where, My GodOr.
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