There's this old bungalow on Lavelle Road, the kind with the mossy compound wall and a jackfruit tree you can see from the bus stop. I sketched it twice this month, once in ink on a Tuesday and once in watercolour from the footpath because the security guard finally stopped shooing me off.

Went past this morning for a third go and there was already an excavator in the compound, half the roof gone. The jackfruit tree is still standing, which is more than I expected.

I keep telling myself the sketch is what matters, that I'm documenting the street not the building. But there's something about losing a place you only got to know by drawing it. You feel the loss almost like you lived there.

Anyway. The painting from Tuesday turned out decent. The light was doing something good that day. I'll finish it now, properly, framed and everything. Feels like the least I owe that house.