The place that had its own beauty

With my throbbing heart, I entered the dilapidated house of my pen-pal. He lives with his dog (Jaguar) at the end of the street near the river. Now you might be able to guess the appearance of his house. Not only this, but his house was the only place that everybody runs past very quickly.
The groaning door with a hole at the bottom cracked open and he invited me in. the four walls stared at me in the character of a small moth which is to be the diet of spiders. The cobwebs at the corner freaked the creeps out of ma spine. The heavy air wrapped me around and I kept waiting for the moment to escape the ice-chilled shell. There were wet-rings on the table which I suppose were four years old.
The windows were open, the T.V displayed American Idol show, the curtains tried running out of the window. The tables were covered with dust and the seaters appeared clean but I didn’t want to take a chance sitting on them.
The 6 feet tall, common boy with dark brown hair falling on his ear beamed through his blue eyes with gratitude and affection.
There was a library of interesting books in his snail like shelf but were kept lifeless. His room lacked any music group, scantily clad, there was a soiled look on walls which provided sense of muckiness.
The bed lied unmade and wardrobe gathered dust on the floor. I consider it as very muddle and inflexible. Strewn about the bed were millions of magazine of various interests - space, motors, furniture, pornography etc.
While touring the room, one would definitely stop to look through the room’s workspace as it was the only area organized and clean. The desktop was neat and attractive. It had a laptop in one corner and few books under it. A small desk calendar was arranged right next to the laptop. A crystal ink pot had conquered a few inches of the table along with an old style pen…and next to the pen laid a fresh pretty rose that still had the droplets of dew. It was the only sight I loved.