I was done. I had driven to Hartford let myself into our old house and spent two hours opening cabinets checking dryer lint crawling into crawl spaces looking for damp spots rubbing my foot on the parquet to see if something was a scratch or just scuffed. For the record it was all scuff — I’m blaming the movers. Quick phone call to the agent longer phone call to the handyman and I was ready to call it a day.
Everything looked the same in Hartford: the street sign on a wonky angle the broken screen door the rooster mail box from the previous owner. Not sure why I expected things to be different.
Food I needed food. The last thing I ate was a piece of stale kokosh cake after my morning coffee. I wanted something hot; the house was freezing we had left the heat on only high enough to stop the pipes from freezing.
I checked the time: 12:06. Not bad I could be home by 2:30. Just a quick Starbucks pit stop and I’d be on the road. I texted Rafi. Leaving soon checked everything called the agent and the handyman. Ready to roll in a week. Really the whole thing hadn’t been as bad as I thought it would it be. It had sounded like a huge pain but doing it wasn’t such a big deal.
