The first time I saw the house on Hill Street in Echo Park, it looked like a museum of unfinished projects: stacks of drywall leaning like tombstones, a bathtub wrapped in moving blankets, and a pile of sun-bleached lumber that whispered of summers gone by. A diesel rumble threaded through the neighborhood as a dumpster truck rolled past, and for a moment I imagined the pile being swallowed whole — gone, clean, leaving only the scent of lemon cleaner and fresh possibility.
Hook: The Call That Started It All
