5572, a cocoon, a resting place for the weary. Cultivated by my grandmother - we always had a place to call home. Fifty plus years of memories packed into two stories of bricks.

The block was always hot, but inside of these walls nothing could touch me. The porch was my cradle, the back yard my dream pool. I learned how peace and chaos could co-exist and made sense of the two. My westside sanctuary.