It was the only direction I could think of to go.

The walk to his house took almost two hours.

By the time I reached his wide suburban street, the sun was setting, and the tall streetlights were buzzing to life.

Gregory was standing in his concrete driveway holding a green garden hose.

He was washing a brand-new set of golf clubs.

Pamela sat on the front porch steps with a half-empty glass of white wine.

She pushed her designer sunglasses up her nose even though it was getting dark.