When a house goes to hell, its soul stays behind

I’m in the middle of the house.

I’ve been doing it for three decades, but I’ve only had one hell-bound house.

It was the mid-1990s, and my husband was an architect.

He’d built a series of small bungalows around the house, each one designed to resemble the rest.

The only difference between the bungalow designs was the style of the windows, the wallpaper, and the wood used to make the walls.

The kitchen and bathrooms were identical.

Every night, when the house was in its best shape, my husband would paint the walls white to make them look like a mansion.

Every time we went out, he’d paint the windows white to remind us that we were living in a luxury condo.

The house was so beautifully maintained that it was easy to forget that we lived in a bungalowed house.

In those days, most people didn’t bother to have any decor at all.

They didn’t care about the color of a house, the shape of a door, or the way the light shines through the window.

I didn’t.

I was a writer for a magazine in the mid-’90s, so I knew what I was getting into when I read the ad.

It’s a classic of urban decay: the house that goes to heaven.

The house that went to heaven is a mansion in the suburbs, with a view of the city, the bay, and Lake Tahoe.

Its interior is designed with a modernist aesthetic that makes it feel like a luxurious resort in a city.

It has a spacious living area with a pool, a fireplace, and a pool table.

Its kitchen is clean and well-stocked, and its bathrooms are well-equipped.

Its basement is equipped with a bathtub, a bath, and shower, and it has an attached garage.

When I lived in the house during the renovations, it was filled with the most exotic furniture.

I kept all my favorite furniture in the kitchen.

The bedrooms were all marble, and each one had a picture of a famous celebrity.

They were so beautiful.

I even kept a large television in the living room.

I’d look through the picture window and see the stars in the sky.

But then the renovations started.

My husband painted all the walls black.

I had to paint the window sills and walls.

He even made the walls of the living and dining rooms black.

Then, one day, I had a dream about my house, a dream that I had for a year.

The whole house was just like a dream.

I could hear the birds singing and hear the rain fall in the backyard.

I was so happy.

Then the remodel happened, and I realized that I’d been dreaming about my home all these years.

The remodel had transformed the home from a dream to a nightmare.

Even though the renovations were well-documented in the media, the remodeling was a total failure.

The renovation was a complete and total disaster.

My house became a nightmare, and everyone I knew was unhappy.

I got divorced.

The worst thing that could have happened was that someone in the family left for another house.

It could have been someone I loved dearly, or someone I had never met.

I never got the chance to see them again.

The problems in my house were too many.

I couldn’t stop thinking about my husband’s home, and what he must have felt when he built it.

For years, I never thought of my home as a house.

That’s because, in the early 1990s, the country was still in a recession.

It was the end of the world, and most people felt that way.

They thought that living in an expensive home meant that you could retire at 80, but that wasn’t true.

The economy was still weak.

The real estate market was still reeling.

I thought that the only thing that mattered in a home was how much money you made.

That wasn’t what mattered in my home.

When I was young, my father had a beautiful ranch in the mountains.

He built a cabin and lived in it for years.

He didn’t have a television.

He had no car.

He loved the ranch so much that he bought it in the ’70s.

When the ranch went out of business, he put the ranch on the market for $2.5 million.

He never bought it.

He lived in debt, and he struggled with his debts.

It wasn’t until he was 60 that he sold his house to buy a smaller ranch in a rural area.

He bought the smaller ranch for $1.5 billion and put it on the auction block.

Everyone knew that it wasn’t going to sell for much, but it didn’t matter.

I still think that’s how it should have gone.

My family was struggling financially, and they thought that it would be better for me to go back to college, where I could have a job. But

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