Everything has a life. Every inanimate object posses a feel about it; a purpose of being something more than they seem. You know like when you're in the forest alone by yourself and night is casting her cloak about the world. Your pulse starts to pick up; tiny jackhammers start pounding along the inside of your veins. You begin to get scared because there is a feel about the forest now. Why? What is it …showed first 75 words of 860 total…

…showed last 75 words of 860 total…of a roach-infested, run-down motel you can stare at a $4 million plus dollar penthouse of Turnberry Place. Life even a couple blocks away is different. Fremont St. resents this. Man-made as it is Fremont St. never forgets what type of land it once was, and never really accepts the role that man gave it to be. That feeling is back and you swear to God you've never felt so alone. Can you feel the breeze?