The question becomes, how many directions can one shack fall at once? I first passed this way on the very first day of 2012, when I'd just heard the songs of a man named Jack Marks. "Before the Flood" was all echoing in my head, a tale of aftermath and other things. Those emotions are the biggest part of the places in my eyes. What's loved and died, what's unloved and dead the same. Any pride this little blue hovel ever held was just the beauty of having a home of your own – but once that original passion fades, it's hard to find a buyer for one bedroom, one bath. Little spaces make for numbing nighttimes, days of desperation. Calming contentment, maybe, so long as you're claustrophilic. Comforting closeness, it's here if you want it. Just duck your head, and keep your expectations low.