The house I grew up in is still standing. So is my memere and pepere's house, where I
lived for 3 years after college.
The airport bought both houses as part of their "too
many decibels, expansion, who knows what the hell they’re doing" plan.
Occasionally I still drive by 57 Dumont Avenue and 6
Patrick Street and take a look at the empty, neglected buildings. They still look the same from the street,
sort of.
At some point the houses will be demolished; razed and
removed from existence. Instead of
driving through a neighborhood of abandoned houses I will drive through a set
of empty lots, newly planted trees, and eerie stillness.
Both still feel like my house. One day I won’t be able to visit anymore.
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