So, the house, corner lot, three bed, two bath, nothing fancy, sat at the end of a culdesac in one of those neighborhoods where every house has the same mailbox and everyone mows on Saturday. What made it different, at least for me, was the driveway. Most houses on the street had a straight shot from the garage to the curb.
Mine didn’t. My driveway ran along the side of the property parallel to the street, almost like a little private road. If you were driving past and didn’t know any better, you’d think it was just part of the road, like a lane that belonged to the neighborhood. It didn’t. I had the deed. I had the survey. That driveway, every inch of it sat inside my property line, recorded, documented, mine.
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