The first level of my house is tiny, disproportionate, uneven (I suspect there are no right angles), and creaky--but for each of those misfortunes there is a good attribute. I've lived there all of my life and I have a soft spot for it.
The basement, though, has no positive features and needs no exaggeration. Since childhood I have understood that our cellar is a cold mess of crackling concrete and water stains. It is a place where nomadic mice plan their dwelling and centipedes skitter around the boxes of holiday decorations.
When my purpose there is done, I leap up the stairs and try to forget the unseen terrors grabbing at my ankles.
This was done in ink right on time for the MAMA Scared Stiff Contest!