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I like literature. I like writing. I like diction and how our words can sway and dismay us. Prose and poetry have, against the will of the human race, made us their bitch as we bend over the table and beg for more until we're left gasping and stunned. We crave the next chapter, anticipate the sequels, and follow the writers with such devotion. Words are our master, and we've been hooked, lined, and sunken into our paper graves.

Incipio The Johnson family seemed to be the perfect candidates for Apartment 2 in 328 Willow Street. Adam Johnson was travelling salesman and he sold air conditioning units door to door. Aged thirty-one, he was of medium height with chocolate brown hair and a chiseled jaw. He was nice enough, though almost quiet. He seemed to be comfortable in talking business, but lesser so in social situations. His new wife, Abby, was just two inches shorter than Adam when wearing heels. She had inky black hair, was very thin, and make-up that was very well-applied.  She was noticeably younger than her husband, but not scandalously so as she was twen