Beyond the manicured lawns off of Crescent Road, the zombies appear out of nowhere.
Weeds, as tall as grown men, fill the fields of dreams where McMansions had once dared to tread.
The pavement has prematurely aged, a thin veneer of blacktop on the surface of the heavy clay.
Not much has changed out here since the last time I photographed it. What is like to live in the one house that actually was finished?
