I know what they always say about old houses, there's something inexplicably scary about

them, something about the way the pipes creak and the sound of the house settling.

The chipping paint and walked windows, the doors with rusted hinges and the floorboards

at squeal with each step.

And yet, as frightening as they can be, there's a magnetism that always seems to draw us back.

I know, I make it sound romantic, but I also know the real reason people do it.

I'm not an idiot.

The house and market is in shambles.

People love a house with character.

Even when that character is pushed through a fresh coat of white paint and water down with

a new and improved open concept floor plan.

I grew up in a neighborhood with old houses,

watched one by one as each house lost its personality to a million dollar price tag.

Maybe I'm the odd one out for thinking about old houses like this.

I've always loved history, I've always loved architecture.

It's like I was destined to my line of work.

I work in restoration, specifically working with historic buildings.

I love my work, as slim pickings as it is.

The clientele is small, but they pay well, and I live in a very old city.

I'd been looking for a house to call my own, saving up enough money to hopefully buy my own house,

but I knew it was a pipe dream.

I'd end up in a townhouse at best, but I let myself dream.

...