Sometimes, when I see the peeling paint on my porch and shingles, when I think of the feet of ash collecting in my chimney, when I stand in the shower ankle-deep in gray water, I think my house is in rough shape. But at least it doesn't look like this one. My city is rife with beautiful Victorian homes that look raped. On my usual walking and running routes, I see houses that might've once been mansions -- but they're in such disrepair that Queen Victoria herself would shit her XXXXL bloomers to see the state of them. There's no one around here with any money to fix them up, either. It's a shame.