After the barbed wire villa my friend asked me if I still wanted to try my luck with a nursing home nearby. I declined. I was tired, I had been driving for two weeks and I was just one and a half hours from home. I could have roadtripped for one more day, but decided to drive back to the capital region, wash some clothes and sleep in my own bed.
I was back on the road already the next day. The family of my friend who accompanied me to the old municipal home in the beginning of the summer were selling her childhood home. She had always thrown parties there to friends and wanted to throw one last party. I was invited, despite not knowing any of her friends. I thought it was nice of her.
I packed clothes for one more night, but also my camera, and headed West. I didn’t take the new motorway, but chose the old route expecting to find something interesting along it.
And indeed I found. I noticed an old one family home with a crumbling brick roof and big chunks of the eaves missing. One window was boarded shut and the driveway so overgrown, I couldn’t almost find it. I thought it was safe to approach.
Yet this was the only photo I managed to take.
Because right behind that bush…
…was an extremely old lady sitting in a garden chair reading a book. She didn’t notice me, I hope, so I quickly retreated and ran away.
And that’s, kids, how I almost met your grandmother. There’s a first time for everything.