It's a peeling-orange duplex with parking for one car on a street of similar houses, some of them with trailers in the yard. Both units have four bedrooms, so it's actually quite spacious. The landlord, who is missing one leg, walks them through it. The stove in the left unit no longer has a pilot light and you have to light it with a match, and the fridge in the right unit doesn't keep things cold enough unless you keep it at least half full all the time, but he knows that's not always easy so he keeps these big jars of water in there when there's not enough food to fill it.
"Plus, then you have water if there's a tornado and the town water goes out," he says, and shows them that the light in the living room is connected to the switch in the master bedroom for some reason.
The large backyard is full of clover and wildflowers and mint and has a wild blackberry bush in place of a back fence. "City says to keep everything under eight inches or they'll send you a warning," the landlord says, "and after that they fine you and that's yours to pay."