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November 19, 2018
I looked at the address on the scrap of paper. The paper was long and ragged, torn on all four sides around the address. It was soiled, grease stains and dark finger prints. I might have seen this house before. I should have. I used to live on this street. But I had expected an apartment building. It was, instead a house divided up into several apartments. The entry was not what I remembered for this place. Perhaps my memory was at fault. All I had to do now was to walk up to the door and knock on it.