So my old boss moved out of his house yesterday. He’d been living there for 27 years. He’d been living there as long as I’ve been alive. You may have noticed his furniture up for sale on my Flickr, but it’s not for sale anymore. Everything that hasn’t been sold is sitting on the side of the road, next to the house that he doesn’t live in anymore.
I tried to take as much of his stuff as I could, because he didn’t want to throw anything away. I now have two oriental rugs, a drafting table, some creepy clown plates, thai flatware, assorted art books, and a ton of paintings and line drawings. Among other things. My apartment is no longer mine, but at the same time, I wish I could have taken more.
I worked there for four years – four and a half, if you count my internship. For awhile, I was there more than i was anywhere else. Sometimes I would sleep there, if the situation demanded. It was a really huge place, but it was the little things that I loved about it. Since it was built before the cookie-cutter mass construction that plagues today’s neighborhoods, the house is filled with unique touches. Well-placed coat hooks, bureaus built right into the wall. A third-floor alcove perfect for a little girl’s bedroom… or an edit suite. My office was all windows, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining the wall to my left.
that room is so empty now, you guys, seriously I couldn’t even bring myself to take a picture of it. I know, I’m such a sap, shut up, but it’s hard to see a place you loved go from this:
to bare in the space of a week. Maybe after work I’ll cruise over for some dumpster diving. I can’t imagine that the trash men would really be able to deal with all his furniture in one shot.