#Hummus mojar untar cracked#

In the linoleum-floored kitchen, the refrigerator door is open, mold spouting on the sweating enamel. In the other bedroom a broken candelabra dangles half detached from the ceiling. Carpeting looks like it came out of doghouse. In the puke yellow tiny back bedroom is a single bare mattress on the floor: bras and t-shirts are still draped from wire hangers in the doorless closet. Not yet on the market a 945 square-foot dive. In a row of nine little stucco townhomes, all adobe-dun colored with shared walls and just enough space in the narrow driveway to squeeze a pickup truck. Next street is Camino De Guadalupita, a dead-ended cul-de-sac. Just past the organic doggie treats store and Agua Fria nursery is the house on the left with a hundred ceramic Marias and bald San Franciscos with plastic roses climbing bathtub arches.

#Hummus mojar untar cracked#

Then past an ancient adobe with Our Lady of Guadalupe and her day glow thorns painted miraculously larger than the cracked wall. She drives past what I call los manos de maize house with a wall-size mural of black and white open hands offering Indian corn with kernels the size of your head. Francis (the opposite end of town to the affluent Eastside of Canyon Road’s fancy art shops and Plaza), past trailer homes and trucks parked in empty lots and chain link fences, mailboxes with numbers spray-painted on. Danielle drives down Agua Fria through the working class neighborhood on the west side of St. Santa fe/new mexico On a Sunday morning some weeks ago, our Broker tells us she just listed a house needs a lot of work there’s somebody out there who would probably buy it.