Eight walls, a forest floor, and a birthday cake, one owner
You’ll come home to this three-story galvanized ranch. All books included. Brand new blue Persian, one owner and all shots. California rolls and gasping Siamese fighting fish. Mossy enclaves. Crystal blue tributary starting and ending at bookshelving units, burnished and ivy-covered for that oh-so-vintage look. Enjoy waking up each night to ice-cold waltzes and ashy obituaries, once owned by a member of the Women’s glee club of upper Lake Michigan. Cake with flourishes of settees and the rust-belt graces the center of this abode, making no mistake that royalty would pass on the price, if only for the writing on the parlor walls. Translation included at no charge, with hopes of a quick sell. Situated in the county seat of treason and deceit, you’ll find everything you need in these four and one-half rooms, complete with nacho soirees, chicken soup galas, and an abundance of pajamas and repose. Just a mile from treachery and loss-of-innocency, this moveable feast needs only water added and copious time at three-hundred-fifty degrees fahrenheit with the lid off. Tranquil cold-frame. Unbeatable clamour and discordant reverie. Every armoire stuffed with tulle and silk bunting. Gleaming pats-on-the-back, newly acquired. Smiles when you wish them, tucked away in careful , un-alphabetical order, so as not to attract attention. Unobtrusive and dim lighting. Leap-frogs. Casseroles. Double walled coverage from storms.