The house on SE 92nd Avenue was a 1924 craftsman that had seen much better days. The gray paint was peeling in large, brittle flakes, revealing the weathered cedar siding beneath. The front yard, which might have once held a beautiful garden, was now a jungle of overgrown blackberry bushes and knee-high grass.
Elena sighed, a heavy sound that seemed to deflate her shoulders. "I know. A regular buyer wouldn't touch this. An inspector would have a field day. I just want it over with. I need to pay off his medical bills and close this chapter."
Demo complete, Marcus typed. Let's bring this Portland classic back to life. we buy houses portland oregon
The fluorescent lights of the office hummed at a frequency that always gave Marcus a slight headache by 4:00 PM. On his desk sat a stack of yellow legal pads, a half-empty cup of cold black coffee, and a printed spreadsheet of distressed properties in Multnomah County.
He named a figure. It was significantly lower than what a pristine house would go for in Portland's hot market, but it was fair for a hoarder home needing a total gut job. The house on SE 92nd Avenue was a
Elena looked at the number on the screen. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting out a breath she seemed to have been holding for weeks. "Okay," she whispered. "Let's do it."
Waiting for him was Elena. She was in her late fifties, with tired eyes and hands that she kept burying deep in the pockets of her knitted cardigan. Elena sighed, a heavy sound that seemed to
He pulled out his phone, snapped a picture of the cleared-out living room, and sent it to his contractor.