I was standing in front of the brownstone; it looked just as it had when I was child. The brick and stone facade was crumbling in places and the casement windows were thick with pealing paint, their frames cracked. It was a building badly in need of repair. The site of it brought a rush of emotions, both pleasure and pain all at once. The musty smell of layer upon layer of old autumn leaves stung my nose and reminded me of the days when Sam and I would scrape them all together between the oak trees, only to jump and roll in them until they were once again spread across the yard.

Then the memories started, the ones I always try to push away, those of my sister headed down a disastrous path of drugs, sex, excesses of ever kind, and ultimately the death of my niece Brenna.

Despite the bad memories the dilapidated family brownstone could conjure up, Id bought myself a grand brownstone in Brooklyn Heights. I paid its $4 million dollar price tag with money Id earned in what some might call the easy way. I was an escort for high class business men, old-money, old fashioned, high class business men...

My muti-million dollar mansion was at the corner of Cranberry and Willow St., maybe you've hear of it, they call it the moonstruck house. Its a masterpiece in all its 4 story glory, tree lines shaded streets, surrounded by row house after row house. One of my favorite things about living here is the Promenade. I love spending my free afternoons.......