There's a vacant house across the street from my mom's house in Florida. It isn't completely finished, no railings on the stairs or a driveway, but you're not gonna get rained on if you're inside. My mom said it was intended to be a model home.  It was going to be auctioned off, but then the economy lost it and they had to abandon ship. It's a horriying thing, gaudy with no trace of human craft. It's what would happen if an English castle and a Spanish colonial revival managed to reproduce. You should see it, just standing there, a giant monument to the failure of America.

But who knows, maybe it will sit there for another 100 years and then people will travel here to marvel at it's unfathomable quality. I guess that's the only question, how long does it take for something to be interesting? Myles and I spend hours driving through suburbs - like a safari. A few weeks ago we found the most bizarre neighborhood in the suburbs of Atlanta. It was just off this vicious causeway, which made it even more bizare because as soon as we made the turn we were transported into to this hilly, dank green neighborhood with moss and trees and lots of cars from the 1990s but not a person in sight. It was full of large middle-class houses, mostly two stories with yards to scale. They all looked to be by the same builder - wood paneling painted dark colors - and here's the thing: each and every one of them had been converted into an apartment home. They looked just like your everyday middle class homes doing their middle class thing, except they each had two front doors and next to them the letters A and B or sometimes 1 and 2. If it weren't for the cars, we'd of had no idea anyone even lived there. I'm fairly certain there was trash in the breeze. Yet there's a mansion designed by Disney across the street from my mom's house with no one living in it.