” Michelle stubbed out her cigarette with her foot and sauntered back to the cafeteria. That is, until I investigated Iovelli-Alberti in the Fourteenth Century!” They reached a part of the subdivision dubbed “The Treehouse”, a popular hangout for edgy teens who smoked joints in its foundation pits. She stared out of the paned glass window, watching the trees being blown bare by the gale force. All was darkness, horror, confusion, ruin. Without turning or looking in his direction she leaned forwards, her head supported upon her fingers, her elbows upon her knees.
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