February"s thick snow silences Boston"s Back Bay area and heightens frightful screams inside seven-hundred-eighty Boylston Street. Annoyed tenants, arriving home from work, hasten inside and swiftly close their apartment doors. Several minutes later, shuffling and whispering evolve in front of apartment 20A. Tom, worried neighbors reported the noise, looks through the peephole, finding an attractive brunette and several men staring back. He takes a deep breath, clears his throat, and opens the door a c***k.
“Yes. May I help you?” He asked, tempering remnants of anger in his voice.
As the door opens wider, Ellen, his wife, joins his side. Immediately, aware of the camera crew, and their disheveled appearance, they both step back. Ellen brushes her hair in place and rolls a crinkled sleeve
