I remember the house I was born in. It was a gambrel roofed Victorian with a huge round front porch that had been divided into three apartments. The landlord, Billy was an elderly gay man (my mother is a fag hag from way back, lol) who lived downstairs and his lover lived in an adjoining apartment, I suppose because back then discretion made it necessary. What I remember most though was, that there was a service stair from our apartment down to his kitchen and he always left the door unlocked from his side (the door had locks on both sides, I don't want to give the impression that he was a creepy old perv that could sneak into our home at any time) for me to get at the candy dish he kept on the counter nearby... We lived there until I was about 3 or 4.
That's what I remember, the "secret" staircase and Billy's candy dish...