PARAGRAPH 1:

    The 7/11 sign rang out into the otherwise dead night as Jen’s fingers trembled a menthol Newport from its case. It quivered at the end of her lip, and she leaned against the gas station wall like it was the arms of a midnight savior from the debacle they had experienced. She lit it and took a drag.
    “Damien, do you want a puff?” She asked, sending smoke into the air.
    “No, I just want to hit the road again, Jen.” He responded rocking back and forth on the curb, nursing his left hand. “Besides, I don’t like menthols.”
    “Sorry, forgot.” She said, readjusting the blue strand of hair in front of her face. Theo burst from the doors.

PARAGRAPH 2:

       They made their way north on I-75, passing by all the desolate highway towns that littered the southwest coast of Florida. Punta Gorda and Port Charlotte, and some nicer places like Venice and Sarasota; they were all the same for the most part. The Suncoast cities mirrored themselves, chock full of corporate buildings, congested roads, and enough construction to make anyones head spin.
       They rounded bends, hugging the shoulder of the road as Theo explained why Taylor Swift may well be one of the best pop artists of the 21st century. Damien was only half listening, watching the pine flat woods whisk by him. They were almost waving at him. He felt sleep begin to lull him away, and he laid his head against the window and closed his eyes.
       He wasn’t sure how long he was out. He could make out the conversation from the front seat, but not really. It sounded like they were speaking in reverse, or like you were trying to eavesdrop during a hurricane.
       A sudden whip to the right and a scream immediately lit his adrenaline glands on fire. His eyes shot wide, and suddenly he could make out words again. He could see clearly, no longer obscured by the beige tinge of his sunglasses that had been thrown off of his face in the sudden jolt.

PARAGRAPH 3:

       “Good morning, Jen.” He replied. She smiled and walked into the kitchen.
Of all the things the manor did and didn’t have, horror films were in abundance. Despite the fact he had access to Pixar, something about A Nightmare on Elm Street had called his name earlier.
       Maybe, he thought, that something was Johnny Depp, but who was to know for certain? Jen made herself a bowl of cereal and sat on the couch next to him.
“How did you sleep?” She asked him, spooning through Fruit Loops and watching the TV alongside him. He smiled.
       “Like a baby.” He beamed.
       On the inside, his heart was fluttering.
       “How about you?” He asked.
       “I dunno, I think I slept OK. I feel a little weird, like I slept in the wrong position. Probably just from sleeping in a new place.” She said, dismissing the aches and pains whispering from her back.