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May 27, 2008
The third house in the six-house tour came with three acres and two large out-buildings, one a barn complete with hay loft. Michael Junior, already hanging in the loft, was in love. I was already getting tired and could feel the neurons in my brain starting to sizzle and spark. It was an older home constructed of wire-cut brick. It had a huge basement and a twenty-foot master bedroom upstairs. Inside, I felt oppressed. “I feel like I died in here,” I said, and walked out.

“You say you think someone died in there?” called Garry.

“Me,” I called back.