Sighted in my neighborhood. For some reason I find half-built houses very poignant. (Enough so that I used to have an entire blog about the topic.) Maybe other people feel the same way about children, that they’re full of potential, poised on the point of blooming. Parents get wistful when their offspring grow up, worried about the inevitable loss of innocence.
That’s not exactly how I regard unfinished houses. After all, a house never had any innocence in the first place.