Romantically enchanted storybook block bidding fair thee well in an urban fairy-tale. Geographic magic where something happens on your non-commute, crossing 11th, below Lincoln Park, ties become leashes, shoes become sneakers, porches start pleading, come get a drinkers, inside you go, first thing to know, a really soft flow, centered staircases create dual social spaces embracing the notion of hanging out choices, not four flat walls, not over-exposed, think meaningful face-time, not in each other's face all the time. Think winding cheerful light, command-central kitchen, think ceiling height and the discreetest petitest convenientest powder-room ever, still more space to gather, spill out if you'd rather, dine green if it matters on cool blue-stone-scape, but wait, another place, a straight-up mantasy, part garage, part attic, part kayak fanatic, just another dwelling telling bedtime stories, begin to ascend past a reading spot, a day-planning station, back bedroom vacation on a morning veranda, Amanda and Miranda demanding their coffee, front master, soft and lofty, chatter scatters, quiet nights, dreaming deeply beneath the Walter Street lights.
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