This blog entry has absolutely nothing to do with writing, so please feel free to ignore. […]
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From Joe's writing

Shawn slowly climbed the old wooden stairs, listening to the low creak that sounded from his footsteps. He hoped the wood wouldn’t collapse beneath him. But the stairs held strong and a moment later he joined his friend in the kitchen of the old house, a wave of suffocating humidity washing over them as they stepped deeper into its secrets.

— Small Things, Chapter 16