He squeezed between the board and the door jamb to enter the foyer of what appeared to have been, at one time, a very nice home. Clearly a victim of foreclosure during the market crash, it was still littered with expensive looking furniture, the owners had failed to take with them in their haste to clear out. Carter guessed they were fairly safe from prospective buyers intruding in on their hideout, even with the steadily rising market; the place was a disaster. There were shards of broken glass, from previous squatters busting out the windows, scattered across the floor. The walls were decorated with magnificent graffiti murals that had taken some time and serious effort to complete. Most likely it had become a meet up spot for the local kids looking for a place to drink booze and party. Carter ventured it was pretty much a sausage-fest by the filthy porno mags they had left behind. The entry smelled like piss and the dirty little bastards had no doubt been using the corner of the room as a urinal.
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