The day started as one should at The Foxberry. Slow and painful. The building creaked and strange sounds came and went at odd hours. One would hope that Netflix would use the building as a movie set. Its corners were dark, its lights intermittent, and the residents sometimes seemed diaphanous as they wandered in and out. The building was a conundrum. It seemed as if nobody would choose to live there, but all the apartments were rented.
The rain made it all come together. Old Man Jenkins had to give-up on his chess game in the park. Instead, he set-up his game in the lobby next to the broken fountain. When no one would play him, he started working on the fountain, muttering as he took things apart. He was thinking about the parking deck.
Two days earlier, Mr. Evans was found dead in parking spot 303. He had played many chess matches with Jenkins. Jenkins knew it wasn't a heart attack like the coroner stated. The cops didn't bother to take his statement. Now, he tossed broken parts onto the lobby floor and decided to get to the bottom of the problem. "It's time," he thought "that something around here worked as it should."
Just as Jenkins muttered those words, the water pipes in Apt. 207--in which 2 women were attempting to share the place--broke. They had to move out into separate apartments. All the better, really. They weren't getting along very well in the first place.
Your character url is due on October 19th by the beginning of class.
Your blog is due the 26th of October by the beginning of class.
