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I enjoyed camp for two reasons. One, I got to use the tent that took up space in my room and second, marshmallows over a fire. However, this year camp was the biggest pain because there was no tenting, only a cabin that I needed to share with twelve other campers. The marshmallows were yet to show themselves either. The worst part about camp though had to be the second-last night.
I worked in accounting, which really isn’t a bad job. Most people I know give it a bad rep by saying the work is dull and the hours aren’t good either, but in truth it is solid work. I find comfort in the day-to-day rut because after months end I am relatively free. Not to mention the pay, which when you have been working for such a large company for so many years is quite substantial.
There was a name whispered around the town. These were whispers about a street that sent shivers down the spine of everyone who heard its name. It was an urban legend that came true and it made it difficult for residents a block away to sleep. Truly, Cold Street gripped the mind of everyone who knew about it, but not for the reasons that most believed. Here is the story of Cold Street.
The two of us sat on the small bench and waited for the train to arrive. The platform was a pitiful sight, only one bench and a shack where they would hand out tickets. Of course, there was nobody handing out tickets for this train, but I knew the driver. While we listened to the night sounds she slowly leaned against me and we tried not to fall asleep.
“I don’t know what makes you think we can fix this place up,” I told Robert.
The warehouse was a strange mix of broken and rusted metal implements. It used to manufacture old war munitions, but that time has long since passed. The time between then and now however showed itself clearly in the decrepit environment. Of course we still wanted the warehouse. It would also be a great marketing direction.
Be sure to follow!