By Luis De Estores

I've always thought that the space we live are like pictures where the walls carry embedded memories.  This, I think, is most especially true to my new home, a small house in downtown Montreal, where it stood for more than a century.  I have lived in it for about a year now, a small period of time, where it bore witness to the many lives that lived in it. My name is Jean Luc, and since graduating college, I've worked in a nearby bank. It is a beautiful house, that I intend to make my beautiful home. With the help of an inheritance from my grandmother, I have worked and saved enough money for a downpayment for a mortgage.  All is well, and I am proud of my new place. The floor squeeks sometimes, as expected from an old house, and the kitchen windows open to the morning sunshine, a perfect spot for breakfasts. 

Yet, weeks after I moved