My Walk to Work 

So yeah, I walk to work. I'd say it's a little more than a mile. I start some time between 830 and 900, and the City is still entirely dormant on my journey. Charleston was just ranked the third best city (behind San Francisco and New York). It's not a bad little trot...

In Charleston, they have these things called houses. This is a house.
If you decided to paint your house pink on the south side of Chicago, locals would jump out of the stands and whomp on you as if you were a first base coach. In Charleston, pink houses abound!

Another house. Crazy, I know.

This is the Market. Of course, this picture makes the place look like shit, but anyone who has been here can tell you that every afternoon, the market teems with old people from Milwaukee who wear fanny packs and ask you where the Market is.
These are the carriages that haul the old people. Carriages are pulled by horses. The horses stink. Nothing like the smell of horse shit in the morning to open up the pores.
Here's a church. It's kinda like a house, except pointier.
That's the market again. No people. Really kooky.
All of the houses here have names (e.g. Maison A-hole). If I had a house here, I would name it "the Future." I'd also buy a Delorean. Then I can tell people I live in "the Future." Sweet.


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