See, Jo could only pretend to care about the special touches that make a house a home for so much longer. And I woke up one morning and said to myself, “Chip, you don’t give a hockey puck if these homeowners chose a reading nook in the playroom or a Juliet balcony off the master bath.” After some reflection and time with our pastor, we realized that what we really wanted to do was to cram a harsh, unwieldy post-war aesthetic down people’s throats.
So, no more shiplap. No more driving around in a pickup truck. No more lies.
Now we can say to the Smiths and the Prestons and all the other good families we’ve been blessed to work with: you are meaningless specks in the face of mechanization and the worker-state. Here is your concrete cube. We don’t care if you like it. It is functional enough for your purposes. Get over yourselves.