The Hopkins House
Once there was a machine to live in. It quietly sat amongst its Victorian neighbours and with an unperceivable buzz ran the lives of a very special family.
It caught the eyes of the strangers and locals daily. The feelings were mixed, but always decisive. ‘Would you live here?’
‘No, it’s a metal box to live in. I would always feel like I am on display!’
But the inhabitants rarely showed their faces. They stayed in the safe spaces in the lower levels and on occasions they needed to risk letting the strangers see them, they lowered the blinds and secretly monitored the reactions of the passers-by.
The family had a very good reason to fear the public. They had told everyone they lived a perfect life. That their furniture is steadily clean and their closets always tidy.
But the truth was much more natural and at ease. The house was a machine not because of its cold exterior, but because of its electrified guts. Daily buzzing with lives. It had seen people come and go, become and change.
Don’t believe the press. A house is not a box to look at, it’s a machine to live in!