Contractor, February 1st, 2000
TO JOHNNY, the house looked like a rotting tooth in the neighborhood's smile. This place hadn't seen a coat of paint in generations and he groaned at the thought of what he might find in the basement.
He hated these jobs. You had to fight your way through piles of old newspapers and worry about rodents taking a bite out of your hand when you reached around the furnace. But these were the cards that life had dealt him that day, so he marched up the broken walkway, stepped carefully onto the rotting porch and knocked on the scarred front door.
The woman who answered his knock looked like she...
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