Those houses weren’t there. Instead it was woods where I pretended I was a soldier fighting invading armies (mostly the forces of COBRA) and later on in life smoked my first joint. In the summer I would lay out there and read comic books. I found a huge open part of an old sewer pipe that was connected to nothing and convinced this older kid who was borderline retarded that it was a gate to hell. I cherish those memories and wish everyone could have something like that.
Now it’s all been leveled in the name of “progress” and for invading idiots who probably post here and talk about “the spirit of Asheville”.
Thanks for raping my childhood, world. At least next time, leave bruises so I know it happened.
