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She was amazed at the quality of the photos asall were F22, fashion magazine quality. We became good friends and anally in understanding me.Like in the 90's, the early 21st century was continuing positive.Then, at one point, I could not stay in business as a single buildingapartment owner due to gentrification tactics and block busting tactics;I left the house to the bank in and spend my first night in a shelter.At the shelter, I was able to fit in a bit, feigning being male amonggang bangers and others. Also, in a shelter that had a religious agenda.It was for about a month until I could mind a room at the YMCA where Icould have a bedroom and free parking for my car. My mother was livingin a nursing home and I would visit her; at this time, I worked as a web/ professional photographer consultant.I did not have my studio like at home and made a studio and workshopinside of a storage unit. Also, found resources at the local library anduniversity. This worked and I was living fully; I. As I suspected, Marilyn liked the location as much as I did. “How big is it?” she asked excitedly.Andrea looked down at the file in her hands, fumbling with them in her gloves. It had snowed lightly overnight, probably the last snowfall of the season, and it was chilly. Charlie was all bundled up, but he was sleeping, and we had left him in the running car. “It’s 25.24 acres. It’s just under 1,000 feet of road frontage down there on Mount Carmel, and just over 1,100 here on the side we’re parked on.”“How come it’s available?”I looked at my wife and shrugged. “Good question.” We both turned to Andrea.“The previous owner was a farmer, but after he died, neither of his sons wanted to become farmers. One of them lives in Baltimore and the other moved out west somewhere. The original farm was split, half on this side and a larger piece on the other side of Mount Carmel Road. The farmer down there...”, she said, pointing towards the east, “ ... he bought the piece across the road, leaving.
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