A house is a home. A home is a house. Walls to shelter us. A known place; a permanent dwelling. A place to inhabit, to return to, to grow in.

But, it’s not like that for you, is it? Is it a stone around your neck, a symbolic step in the path to the grave; wife, kids, house, cat, dog…?

You stupid fucking gypsy, you Peter Pan man, it would have made all the difference.