Pink House
It stuck out like a sore thumb, bleeding with fluorescent pink. I had never seen
another like it. It was used as a marker when people stopped to ask for directions. It was
like a lighthouse in a sea of homes. It was never referred to as anything but ?the pink
house?.
Our neighborhood wasn?t very wealthy. In fact, I?d say it was only about a half a
step up from a trailer park. The streets were lined with little one-story cottages and then
just around the corner, there it was, ?the pink house?. It must have been at least twenty
times larger than all the other houses on its block combined. The dog?s house and playpen
were almost equivalent to the size of the next home.
Starting from the mailbox, there was a pathway shaped in a figure eight we called
the yellow brick road. It led around the dog, through all the gardens, and followed the
perimeter of the brook until it reached near the garage door and loops back around to
enclose the pool. The landscape was manicured three times a week, and there was
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