The Fence House

There is a yellow cloud covering Semtín (a factory producing Semtex explosives) again. It stings a little on the nose, but it's not worse than chopping fresh onions. I drive home every weekend. My parents are great. My dad makes the best breakfast in the world and the mom is the best unrivaled stew cook. We have a small but proud house behind a wooden fence. Instead of a garage we have a container where we store all life junk. Our garden is slowly growing up and it alredy cut us off from the last prying neighbors. The house is a place just right for our for me, my sister and our parents. Me and my sister have our bedrooms on the ground floor. They are more cells than rooms, but they have some huge windows and offer us close distance to the garden. The parents bedroom is upstairs. They have a calm and lovely views. Visits are quite common in our house. I love the feeling when we're all together. Sweet smell of dad´s plum destillate permeates the house and onion goulash hisses on the stove again. This is how we live here.