The Furgason home has the relaxed feel of a place where you could take a nap in the middle of the afternoon without guilt. A squeaking ceiling fan churns the warm air inside the modest rent house, isolated from its working-class neighborhood by three-fourths of an overgrown acre. Two mismatched blue couches near an ancient Zenith invite inactivity; in fact, they were probably never too nice for such laziness. An old black dog sprawls across the cool concrete of the front porch where he's tethered. But mostly, the slow pace comes from Holly... More >>>