For the past five years, the house next door to mine has sat empty, slowly decaying and falling apart. It had actually been sadly neglected, with a jungle growing in its yard, for some years before that; that's just how long I've known it.
In the past two years or so, it's become a well-known meeting spot for meth dealers and crackheads, and a place for hitchhikers on the coastal highway to crash.
No longer. Today, I came home to this:
Poor old Crack House. On one hand, I'm glad to see it go. The cops were over there quite a bit, and I had to install security because of people jumping my fence.
On the other hand, it was an old house and at one point, apparently, it was well-loved. There were probably a lot of good memories in that house.
Then again, there were a lot of bad, and there was no hope of restoring it, so in the end, it's probably for the best.
Rest in Peace, Crack House.