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dwindling in this new fast-paced world. His wife got tired of him not working and loafing around the house depressed. She sued him for divorce and left town with some truck driver she had been seeing. Thankfully, they didn't have any kids. His unemployment was about to run out, and the bills were piling up like sandbags bracing for a flood. A neighbor stuck her neck out to get Dan this job, and he was determined to hang in no matter how bad things got. Standing in front of this junk heap that was once called home at 1312 E. Cypress Street, he wondered what could possibly be worse than this.
    There were dozens of houses in the Near North Development of Decatur that the City was razing. They had been doing it for years through a federal grant. The City was suffering from the economic downturn that drove several factories out of business. Thousands of workers were fighting for the same minimum wage jobs, and some just gave up and turned to drugs and alcohol. The homeless problem had quadrupled in the past ten years because of it, and these abandoned houses that the City now owned, were a breeding ground for a variety of nefarious activity. Gangs and local degenerates were taking over the neighborhoods.
    Dan walked down the driveway to the back of the house. This was the first survey he was doing on his own, and he could feel a lump in his throat. He also couldn't fight off the strange feeling that someone was watching him. He looked nervously over his shoulder but saw no one. Dan clenched his mag light and continued. He carried a small backpack filled with some of the things he needed to do his job, but going into these houses, what Dan really wished he had was a big gun. A really big gun. Maybe a flamethrower!
    As he approached the back of the house, the smell of rotting garbage and mold was overwhelming. In the heat, the odor was powerful. A miasma of putrid foulness seemed to be making its way from the back entrance, where the door was completely gone. He learned the hard way to check the back door before spending lots of time trying to break down the front door. Many of them were open already – like this one. He had to duck down to get his large frame through the opening.
    Sweat continued to pour down his face.  Dan could feel his polo shirt soaked to his skin. Being overweight didn't help matters. He fought back the gag reflex to vomit as he entered the kitchen. Years of dirty dishes were piled high in a crusted tower, half empty cans of indistinguishable food were scattered on the counters and floor, and rodent droppings were like foul chocolate sprinkles on every possible horizontal surface he could see with the aid of his light. A mix of rot and growing mold got stronger as he made his way inside.
    Dan continued into what was the dining room, through a makeshift path that had been cleared between the piles of garbage and various discarded clothes, furniture and more. He could hear water dripping somewhere in the house. To his right, Dan could hear something scurrying in the trash.  His senses were at the point of exploding. He figured it was a mouse or a rat, but he did his best to not think about it. He knew enough to use rubber bands to cinch his pants at his ankles, to avoid something crawling up his legs. Dan heard more noises like this as he waded through the filth – scratching, moving, and gnawing. Despite the urge for him to take the notebook from his backpack to record the condition of the structure, Dan knew he needed to walk through the entire house to be sure no one else was there. During his training, he was taught to do a quick sweep to verify no other humans were present. As his light illuminated the blackness, Dan couldn't imagine anyone wanting to be inside such a terrible place.
    As he entered what appeared to be a living room, Dan could see some daylight from above. There was a hole in the roof, causing the wood floor to be a little spongy beneath his feet. This was likely the source of the