I want you to imagine the darkest, scariest alleyway in your town or city.

The alleyway that nobody in the right mind would walk down.

You're going to get robbed if you walk down it.

I want you to imagine that alleyway.

So now imagine that you're inexplicably drawn to it, that you're fascinated by this place,

that you're obsessed by it, so much so that every week you spend one whole night there,

from sunset to sun up.

And you're going to stick around long enough that something is bound to happen.

Something bad is going to happen.

Meet Albert Newman and James Martin.

They're about as different as two people can get.

James is a gregarious photographer who cell phone rings every five minutes.

Albert's a firefighter whose words trickle out like slow-moving streams.

James is a night owl.

Albert rises at dawn.

Even their physical appearances are polar opposites.

James is built stocky and powerful.

Albert has the long, winnowy frame of a basketball center.

Despite living in the same house, they don't really hang out together, don't talk with

one another.

They often communicate through notes.

But despite all these differences, these tensions and the growing strain of living together,

...