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H32 - Hedge - Row Houses

Tall, steep-roofed row houses rise to either side of the street's cracked and greying asphalt, red brick facades orderly and about as clean as buildings in a city ever are after a few good Vermont winters. White paint around the windows is beginning to raise in several places, close to peeling, but not quite there, and the white-bordered doors to each number are painted glossy black with shiny pineapple door knockers. Every one of them.

The snake of rows curves steadily uphill, spiraling around, and around, and around, but never quite reaching the top, numbers gradually getting longer and longer. The trod's ending comes with a step out of brick and into wood siding, road flattening out to travel through suburbia.

For those, however, whose journey proved too long, or who decided to try to take side streets or alleyways in search of an escape, the maze of yards leads inexorably toward the signs of far more severe urban decay than ever there would be in the true Fort Brunsett, buildings rotting, falling to pieces, adorned with broken glass and gritty filth over spray-painted obscenities in more than a dozen languages.

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