Personal Narrative: The Chipping Blue Window

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The house wasn’t particularly nice. The chipping blue paint was slightly charming. The anti-door would keep out the rain, but a strong breeze would probably knock it open like an action hero was kicking it open. The view from the front was nice enough. There were two windows on the first floor with a door quaintly situated between them and two windows directly on the floor above them. There was a window in between the second story windows that my mother and her boyfriend at the time referred to as the ‘Bourne Window.’ The name was derived from us having recently binged the Bourne Trilogy, and the window looking like something the titular character would be sniping someone through.
We approached the front door to get an inside look, but found it was locked. Interestingly, the doorknob was useless, twisting made no difference; the only thing keeping it shut was the lock, and the door could have been forced open with a bit of effort. I pushed the on the door a few times, and it felt almost like shaking a piece of cardboard. After everyone tried shaking the door as if it would open for him or her like King Arthur pulling Excalibur, we went around to the back of the house. The view from the back was a large kitchen window and a couple of
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The floor was linoleum, and very unstable. It felt as though you were balancing on a piece of cardboard atop a 2x4. What a lovely place to be taking showers regularly. There was also a nice little pervert window looking out of the bathroom. Exiting the bathroom we finally made it out to the north side of the living room, which housed the chimney and one set of two windows on the west wall. The southern half of the living room, which my mother would use as an impromptu bedroom, had a window set on the south wall and another on the west wall. The hallway back to the kitchen was found on the east wall, and the faint scent of Cocoa Pebbles could be smelled emitting from the

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