If you've walked down 1st street between 7th and 8th avenues you can't miss this house: the plethora of trash and junk that litters, nay, decorates the front yard of this limestone is the neglected reflection of a deranged inhabitant -- or simply the biggest expression of WHATEVER. My personal favorite artifacts are the broken mirrors, always a sign of a healthy mind. Then there’s the carefully laid out newspaper pages draped like graceful, gloved hands ascending the sides of the stone steps leading to the front door, where sits a large piece of old furniture.
What the fuck must her neighbors, whose own houses on either side are by all appearances normally maintained, think about the-nightmare-next-door? At the very least, it’s bringing property values down. But who the fuck cares? Them’s yuppie concerns. Besides, good luck getting that shit changed.
Though The New York State Property Maintenance Code, Section 307.1 Accumulation of Rubbish states: “All exterior of property and premises, shall be free from any accumulation of rubbish or garbage," New York City has not formally adopted this code (please correct me if I’m wrong, laid-off DOH employees, would-be lawyers and and/or others with nothing better to do, as this city seems to ticket anything that moves).
There’s always the public nuisance angle, but unless there’s standing water that attracts mosquitoes, rat hotels or other clear and present dangers, good fuckin' luck. 311 is a joke in ya' town. I’ve only once spied the inhabitant of this haunting of hill house: a small middle-aged woman wearing some article of bright red clothing (of course!) creeping to the sidewalk and casting paranoid glances to the right and left of her. But the best thing of all about this affront to our increasingly yupscale sensibilities is that someone at some point must have removed a piece of her debris, because she once POSTED A SIGN ASKING FOR IT BACK.
I’d stay away from those mirrors.