Blood from her toe, ripped on a loose nail on a loose floorboard in the living room, stained a stain on deep discount kitchen linoleum the previous owners should have been beaten for installing.
The historic abode had survived a swarm of soulless urban sprawl, stunning and fab in the middle of prefab.
Privacy was in her top ten list of cherished items, but regularly people stopped, pulled in the driveway or on the grass, snapping pictures of her old farmhouse.
Sometimes, playing Yahtzee by herself, when the dice clacked against the table, she wondered about the odds that she was naked in the window in one of the pictures taken from trucks that made deep gouges in her lawn.
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