Tomb of the Unknown Contractor

One is forced to wonder, if Anne Frank had wound up in this attic, would she have survived as long as she did? If the Nazis didn't kill her, certainly, the oppressive ugly of this mess would have. This house is not in need of a contractor to remedy whatever personal demons were being worked out during its construction; it's in need of a mental health professional. One could probably take a stab at a diagnosis just from looking at the, a-hem, "design." There are steps leading to a front door -- but where one would expect to enter, alas, there is a wall. Perhaps the owner is aloof, distant, "closed-off" or just batshit crazy. It's as if a Victorian cottage were entombed in a block of concrete unable to make a Houdini-like escape from its captor. Help! My house is being held hostage! Someone call 9-1-1! Whatever was going on in the mind of the person who planned out this job (Although doubtful there was much of a planning stage. More likely, "grab a beer and some stucco and let's go!") one thing can be guaranteed: someone happened on a rummage sale at the church. "All windows must go!" They're everywhere. And where they don't fit, plywood will have to do. Perhaps the church-like windows offer hope. Pray for forgiveness.