Ollie pulled up in front of a nondescript wood-frame building. Even if it were daylight, he thought, the peeling boards of this so-called house would be a color he could never describe. It just looked dirty, tired, and rundown. There was plastic sheeting on some of the windows; others were boarded up. The intact windows looked like dark eyes, staring out uninvitingly. Cans and other trash littered the weed-choked front lawn.
The street they were on was narrow and crowded with vehicles that looked like they were on their last legs. At the corner was a convenience store with a big iron gate covering its front. A couple of men in hoodies and denim stood outside, hands in pockets, cigarettes clamped in their mouths.
“This is home?” Ollie asked, his words catching in his throat. He was horrif
