A shack.
A view of strip-mined mountains.
Yard furniture - a rusted truck on blocks, a fridge without a door, Humbella in a half of an old tire painted white, a pile of old tires with weeds growing through them.
My bot-ler (missing some teeth) sits on the front porch in a rocker with a shotgun. I will name him "Cleatus."
Pit-pigs live under the front porch and the pack comes out to chase unwanted visitors away.