you can't go home again, especially if they knock your home to the ground

So I went with esti626 on a day trip to Charlottesville, where I hadn't been back since my graduation ceremony in May 2004 (and before that since I left the weekend of New Year's Eve 2003).  The idea was to have a wander around the campus grounds, hit the bookstore, spend some time in the city, generally have a relaxed visit.  And we did, don't get me wrong -- but listen, on the way in to the university, we passed by the corner where I used to live, and ... my building is not there.

There used to be three little brick buildings in a row; the first two had nine one-bedroom apartments each, I believe, and mine, the third, had twelve studios.  All three of these are gone.  In their place is a single building -- much nicer, it must be said -- that contains I have no idea how many apartments, and there seems to be more parking available as well, and it's paved instead of graveled.  The new place is probably better than the old places.  But, but -- the place where I lived for almost a year and a half is not there.

It's not that I would have gone in and asked the person who lives there now if I could take a look.  It was 450 square feet -- I know what it looks like.  But, as I realized and said to esti626, the apartment I just left, I lived in for 23 months, which was a record since leaving my parents' house; and the previous record-holder was that place in Charlottesville.  I think that's the first place I've ever lived that no longer exists.