We all have that friend. You drop by his place to grab a beer before heading to the ballgame. It’s a fine place. He’s got an obscenely large television and a new sectional sofa. But, something alarms you. It’s his walls. They are utterly, embarrassingly bare. “Just move in?” you ask. “No,” he responds. “Packing up to leave?” “No.” “Got a drug problem?” “Huh?” “Are you a psychopath?” “What?!” “There’s nothing on your damn walls. It’s very upsetting. It feels like a serial killer lives here. Or a vagabond. Has another human ever seen this place and returned?” When you were in college, a room with a bed sufficed. As an adult, you need a home. That home should have a feel. That feel should reflect your personality. If you have nothing on your walls, it screams: the guy living...