On the Consolations of Contemporaneity


I just recently found out that the little townhouse I live in (and its adjoining complex) was constructed in 1982.

Which basically means that I live in a house that’s almost the same age as I am.

What a comforting thought: to be sheltered in something that’s lived through the same number of years; to be contemporaneous with a dearly-loved space.

We were meant to be buddies, this little house and me.

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