Here is an essay I wrote back in the third grade(not really, I wrote it today at work):
My maintenance man is named Frank*. Frank looks a lot like Viggo Mortensen. Except he has varicose veins. Frank is like a male version of my grandma. He bakes things and collects Thomas Kinkaid prints. I bet he knits, too. A few days ago, Frank got convicted of a white collar crime. He will be gone for quite a while. Who will fix my leaky pipe while Frank is in the pokey?
On a happier note, I found out today that there are only forty-two high-risk convicted sex offenders in my neighborhood. Yay! At least Frank wasn't one of them.
*names were changed to protect the guilty