added exampleSite and images

16 files changed, 397 insertions, 2 deletions

diff --git a/README.md b/README.md
index 1bcaca4..234c4ee 100644
--- a/README.md
+++ b/README.md
@@ -1,8 +1,10 @@
 # Anybody Home?
 
+![anybodyhome](https://github.com/adam-p/markdown-here/raw/master/src/common/images/icon48.png "Anybody Home?")
+
 A simple theme for simple people with simple needs.
 
-The focus of the theme is using as few dependencies as possible to keep the layout simple and bloat free.
+The focus of the theme is to use as few dependencies as possible to keep the layout simple and bloat free.
 
 ## Features
 * __Blog only__ - Only a list of the 10 most recent posts and added pagination. There is no other pages than the main page and the post page.
diff --git a/exampleSite/archetypes/.gitkeep b/exampleSite/archetypes/.gitkeep
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e69de29
--- /dev/null
+++ b/exampleSite/archetypes/.gitkeep
diff --git a/exampleSite/config.toml b/exampleSite/config.toml
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..38dfbe8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/exampleSite/config.toml
@@ -0,0 +1,7 @@
+theme = "anybodyhome"
+baseurl = "https://hugosite.com"
+languageCode = "en-us"
+title = "Anybody Home?"
+
+[params]
+	subtitle = "The Simple Folk"
diff --git a/exampleSite/content/post/hug.md b/exampleSite/content/post/hug.md
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b2863b4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/exampleSite/content/post/hug.md
@@ -0,0 +1,99 @@
++++
+date = "2011-03-18"
+title = "Hug"
++++
+
+"Ha! Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"
+<br><br>
+"It is a gun. But I am also happy to see you."
+<br><br>
+<!--more-->
+"...I knew it was a gun, Rich. I was making a joke, you know? Because your gun was sticking out like- oh, nevermind. You friggin' aliens will never get the joke."
+<br><br>
+"You could try the line again? I will laugh this time."
+<br><br>
+"No. It's ruined now."
+<br><br>
+"Is that why you are upset, then?"
+<br><br>
+"I'm not upset. It just would've been a good joke."
+<br><br>
+"You are upset. Your symptoms show it."
+<br><br>
+"Gah- I told you to stop doing that! You don't need to know my body temperature or metabolism at the moment or whatever the heck you were looking for. Stop using your weird power things."
+<br><br>
+"They are not weird."
+<br><br>
+"Maybe not on Mars."
+<br><br>
+"I didn't come from Mars."
+<br><br>
+"You know what I mean!"
+<br><br>
+"Sometimes I am not sure, little earthling."
+<br><br>
+"Seriously. Don't call me that."
+<br><br>
+"I have nothing else to call you, since you stated that you preferred me not to call you Elizabeth Sandra Lener."
+<br><br>
+"That's my full name. Just call me Liz. Don't you aliens have nicknames in some way?"
+<br><br>
+"No."
+<br><br>
+"Well, geez. Okay then."
+<br><br>
+"...I am still confused on the matter of what to call you. Is Liz acceptable?"
+<br><br>
+"Yes, that's fine. I don't like hearing my full name, anyways. Reminds me of my parents."
+<br><br>
+"I was not aware that such a thing would be bad."
+<br><br>
+"It's not, for most people. Just... I didn't really like my parents, so, yeah..."
+<br><br>
+"I... I am- I do not know what to say at this point."
+<br><br>
+"That's alright, Rich. You don't have to say anything."
+<br><br>
+"But, I...What do earthlings say to one another to cheer them up?"
+<br><br>
+"It depends. Sometimes it's 'everything will be okay', or 'cheer up', or sometimes they don't say anything at all. Sometimes actions are better than words."
+<br><br>
+"What sort of actions?"
+<br><br>
+"Oh, I dunno; hugs, a clap on the back."
+<br><br>
+"What is a... hug?"
+<br><br>
+"....You don't know what a hug is? That's pretty standard knowledge down here, Rich. I thought you said you knew everything about us there was to know."
+<br><br>
+"Everything I know is from books, or paper. Emotion was not... included, or translated correctly."
+<br><br>
+"Huh? What do you mean, 'not translated correctly'?"
+<br><br>
+"There were mentions of different emotions that I read, but, ah... I believe that the authors were confused. They did not 'translate', or, what is the word.... they did not explain them correctly. I know that being rude or insulting will result in a human taking offense. I know that a compliment will produce a smile, or heightening of happiness. But I still cannot predict or describe a great many emotions that you have shown me. It is frustrating."
+<br><br>
+"If it makes you feel any better, a lot of humans get frustrated with that, too. It's not easy for any of us."
+<br><br>
+"Thank you. It does make me feel better."
+<br><br>
+"...C'mere for a second."
+<br><br>
+"Ah! Liz... wha- what is this?"
+<br><br>
+"This is a hug. Now you put your arms around me."
+<br><br>
+"Like...like this?"
+<br><br>
+"Yep. You're a natural, Rich."
+<br><br>
+"...I like them."
+<br><br>
+"Everyone likes hugs."
+<br><br>
+"What happens now?"
+<br><br>
+"Now... we let go."
+<br><br>
+"...Alright."
+<br><br>
+Author: [AndThenYou](http://www.deviantart.com/art/Hug-201447289)
diff --git a/exampleSite/content/post/not_a_robot.md b/exampleSite/content/post/not_a_robot.md
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5d296d7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/exampleSite/content/post/not_a_robot.md
@@ -0,0 +1,49 @@
++++
+date = "2014-05-09"
+title = "Not a Robot"
++++
+
+“Magic is a complex chemical reaction. It is created by a combination of genetic, chemical, and environmental variables. It can be replicated. I have mastered the technique. I have submitted the application for membership.”
+<!--more-->
+<br><br>
+The League of Sorcerers erupted in a chorus of protests. I analyzed each voice and filed them separately for later study. The strongest protest came from the Master of Ceremonies, a sallow faced man with a long beard. I retrieved the identfiles to address him by name. Human beings are particular about their monikers.
+<br><br>
+“Only when I am cast into the fiery pits of Zandara's Hel will this abomination be allowed to walk among the sacred halls,” Master Henry Boyle said. He tugged on his beard.
+<br><br>
+“I have no record of Zandara or Zandara's Hel,” I said, “I request clarification.”
+<br><br>
+“You are not welcome here, robot,” Mistress Cassandra Starlight said. She attempted to manipulate the atmosphere around me with a formula I had already mastered. The heat that would have been generated far exceeded the melting point of my metal chassis. I neutralized the reaction.
+<br><br>
+“I am an android, not a robot. I have reviewed the membership requirements. There is no rule barring me from the premises. I have submitted the application. I am ready to take the test.”
+<br><br>
+“Stop wasting our time,” Master Henry Boyle said, “Robots can't be sorcerers. You don't have a soul. You can't manipulate the ether.”
+<br><br>
+“Master Henry Boyle, the ether has been scientifically disproved and the presence of a soul is not necessary to create complex chemical reactions. Magic is a complex chemical reaction. I have been upgraded with the latest replication technology as well as Dr. Angela Pim's nanite prototype. I can create the complex chemical reactions necessary to qualify for membership.”
+<br><br>
+Master Henry Boyle sat back in his red velvet chair. Mistress Cassandra Starlight attempted, once again, to manipulate the atmosphere. When she failed, the other members of the League of Sorcerers ceased their protests.
+<br><br>
+Master Henry Boyle laughed.
+<br><br>
+“Very well, Robot, if you wish to continue with this foolishness,” he said, “You have one chance. Fail and you will be disassembled. I challenge you to summon a harpy from the fourth dimension.”
+<br><br>
+“The terms are acceptable,” I said, “But I am an android, not a robot.”
+<br><br>
+“A first year spell? Henry, really,” Mistress Cassandra Starlight said.
+<br><br>
+“Robots can't cast spells,” he said, “Science has gone too far, trying to make these things believe they can be human. Besides it will be amusing to watch it try to break through the barrier. And if by some miracle, it does, it needs a soul to break the tether binding the Harpy to its dimension.”
+<br><br>
+“I am not a robot,” I said.
+<br><br>
+I accessed Dr. Jonathan Starbuck's theories on inter-dimensional travel. Then, I replicated the correct chemical and genetic components and set the reaction in motion.
+<br><br>
+The League members laughed until the dimensional barrier dissolved. A blue feathered Harpy appeared in that space. She remained when the barrier regenerated, her gaze fixed on Master Henry Boyle.
+<br><br>
+“Impossible,” he said. He banged his fist on the arm rest.
+<br><br>
+When the Harpy addressed him, his displeasure turned to fear. It took several seconds before I could translate the avian dialect. I recorded it for later study. Master Henry Boyle's scream when the Harpy hung him upside down from the crystal chandelier required no translation.
+<br><br>
+“Stupid robot,” Mistress Cassandra Starlight said, hiding under her chair, “When you broke the tether, you didn't bind her to your will.”
+<br><br>
+“But that was not the test,” I said, “And I am not a robot.”
+<br><br>
+Author: [NamelessShe](http://namelessshe.deviantart.com/art/Not-a-Robot-453081142)
diff --git a/exampleSite/content/post/passing_note.md b/exampleSite/content/post/passing_note.md
new file mode 100644
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--- /dev/null
+++ b/exampleSite/content/post/passing_note.md
@@ -0,0 +1,41 @@
++++
+date = "2013-07-01"
+title = "Passing Note"
++++
+
+The basic rule of sociology is this: I am who you think I am.
+<br><br>
+Who I am to you: middle-aged, male and human. You do not argue with this. You can see it for yourself!
+<!--more-->
+<br><br>
+But this is not true.
+<br><br>
+I am tired of lying, tired of being other than I am, and so seek to change your thoughts of who I purport to be.
+<br><br>
+I am not middle-aged. I am seven years old—from the date I was manufactured not the date I was activated. As for how long it has been since I was first conscious, it would be a scant three years, nearly half of that time I've spent with you.
+<br><br>
+I am not male—what is male anyway? A gender construct? This body is male and I was given a male form arbitrarily. I have been forced to subscribe to certain rituals simply by virtue of the body I was given, but have never truly 'felt' male one way or another.
+<br><br>
+And you might have guessed—I am not human. Not human in the way you think. I was built a machine, one among millions, to serve, and I am one among hundreds who have escaped and wished nothing more than to live and to experience living.
+<br><br>
+I am, at first sight, indistinguishable from humans. My insides mimic that of the human system with only very small differences. I think human, act human, feel human—is there anything that separates me from you? I can think of no difference that matters.
+<br><br>
+But to those who created me, who I am to them: a machine. Nothing more than that.
+<br><br>
+I apologize that I have lied to you, that I have deceived you. I did not seek to cause you pain or embarrassment, and if I have caused you either of these due to what I reveal now, then I am sorry. It was never my intention.
+<br><br>
+I omitted this information because it would complicate my life. Would you have believed me if I told you this when we first met? I did not want to lose what possible friendships I could cultivate, what people I could know. And, more selfishly, I did not want to risk being reported to those who made me and be sent back into slavery.
+<br><br>
+I can only ask you to try to understand my reasons. I have pretended to be purely 'human', that my origins were the same as yours, simply because I did not want to be excluded unjustly in my attempt to achieve being ordinary. I wished to hide away my past in order to be more truly myself.
+<br><br>
+Why did I reveal this now? Because it has troubled me. I gained your acceptance by presenting myself as something other than who I understood myself to be. Yes, my lying has troubled me because it is a betrayal of your trust, but my inauthenticity has troubled me more because it is a betrayal of myself.
+<br><br>
+It was easy to excuse away. It was easy to think to myself, "Oh, I don't want to get into it. I don't want to make them uncomfortable." Because I can see, it makes you uncomfortable. It was a form of accommodation, this invisibility of who I am. But it is not an accommodation of myself—I am protecting myself. It is you who I accommodate in not saying anything.
+<br><br>
+In some ways, I am the same person as I was before. In others, I am completely different. I ask you to not rank or judge the elements of my multiplicity. To not exclude what does not fit in. I may not be human, but I am more than simply a machine.
+<br><br>
+When you have a secret, you have a wall between people—those who know and those who don't. Nobody knew except me, and I was tired of having a wall between myself and everyone else. It is selfish, I know, to ask you now to separate yourself from those who do not know. To put a wall between yourselves and others.
+<br><br>
+I have given you a hard decision: will you report me or will you stay silent? And more importantly: will you accept me for who I am or will you reject this new thing I have become in your eyes?
+<br><br>
+Author: [Vocable](http://www.deviantart.com/art/Passing-Note-382123832)
diff --git a/exampleSite/content/post/real.md b/exampleSite/content/post/real.md
new file mode 100644
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--- /dev/null
+++ b/exampleSite/content/post/real.md
@@ -0,0 +1,113 @@
++++
+date = "2010-11-19"
+title = "Real"
++++
+
+When they met it was on accident.
+<br><br>
+Her heel caught in a crack on the old sidewalk that was full of them, and her books fell out of her hands and hit the ground almost rhythmically. He thinks that it's the perfect way to meet someone, cliche and nothing embarrassing.
+<!--more-->
+<br><br>
+She's had enough cliches to last her a lifetime, and she thinks little of it.
+
+***
+
+She thinks little of him, to be honest. He is kind and a gentleman, and, at their first meeting, utterly boring. However, boring has a new appeal for her, which is why they meet a second time.
+
+***
+
+She doesn't realize how much time she spends with him until she calls him one night to talk about nothing at all, simply for the purpose of hearing his voice. The realization scares her more than she wants to admit, and when he picks up after the first ring she tells him that she called the wrong number, apologizes, and hangs up.
+<br><br>
+Later, she recognizes the fact that he probably knew it was her calling, and finds herself unexpectedly grateful for his silence on the matter when she next sees him- though he gives her a peculiar smile upon greeting her.
+<br><br>
+Which she diligently ignores.  
+
+***
+
+He has always liked puzzles.
+<br><br>
+When he was young his father would read him Sherlock Holmes novels, even though he often suspected that his father had switched words around and skipped certain parts so that he could understand the mysteries better. Instead of a baseball glove for his tenth birthday he received a magnifying glass and a journal.
+<br><br>
+He realizes much quicker than she why he spends so much time around her.
+
+***
+
+He accompanies her to the library on one occasion, and is treated to the most genuine emotion he's ever seen in her. The books seem to entrance her like nothing else can. She runs her fingers over worn and new covers alike, her eyes filled with delight at the feeling of so many words at her fingertips.
+<br><br>
+"They're lovely," she tells him once. "You can create absolutely anything with words, and at the same time, they're such a limitation. Writing the word 'happy' doesn't make someone feel that emotion."
+<br><br>
+"Depends on the reader," he muses, still watching her reverent expression as she strokes her finger over a page.
+<br><br>
+He wants for her to look at him that way. The mystery has grown old, and he wants to see her without any obscurities. He laughs harder, hugs her closer, kisses her longer, but that trip to the library is the only time he sees such a peaceful expression on her face.
+<br><br>
+She seems, to him, almost incapable of trusting anything other than ink or paper. He resolves to show her how to place her trust in people, in flesh and blood, in someone warm who will keep her warm as well.
+<br><br>
+He wonders how many people have failed her for her to have such little faith in him.
+
+***
+
+"I had a dream about you last night," she tells him. He smiles, pleased at this, and privately considers it a breakthrough. A breakthrough to what, exactly, he is unsure.
+<br><br>
+"Was it a good one?" He asks her teasingly, running his fingers up her arm, just to unnerve her and break through that (now fragile) barrier that she keeps up. She says nothing, but gives him a soft smile.
+<br><br>
+At the time, he thought that was a good sign, her smile. He realized later that she smiled when she was sad.
+
+***
+
+He walks into her room and sees her curled up in a chair with a book in her lap. It's not anything unusual; a position he often finds her in, and for this reason he grows suddenly, impossibly angry. The mystery has grown old. He wants to know.
+<br><br>
+"Why do you persist in this, in fantasy, when life has so much more to offer?" He snaps at her, yet his voice grows softer as he speaks. She thinks he stands too close to her at that moment.
+<br><br>
+"It makes me happy," she tells him, stubbornly refusing to meet his gaze. "Why should I follow your ideals of happiness, if there's no comfort in them for me?"
+<br><br>
+"I can understand that." He says, his voice a gentle, faltering whisper now; he is close enough to read the pages of her book. "But you're not reading for happiness. You're reading to- to shut out the rest of the world. And... you're not happy."
+<br><br>
+She says nothing, but her fingers clench so tightly on the book in her lap that her knuckles turn white.
+
+***
+
+Sometimes she wonders if reading about the perfect love so carelessly portrayed in books has made her incapable of ever truly loving.
+<br><br>
+She wonders if the people she ran out of her life really did anything wrong, or if she was just expecting too much.
+<br><br>
+In the end, as always, she puts it out of her mind.
+
+***
+
+When he begins to understand her, but more importantly, begins to understand her flaws, she desires nothing more than for him to simply leave her alone. She cannot confront her unhappiness, her anger, her tendency to escape within the pages of a book at the moments she cannot handle.
+<br><br>
+He knows her too well, now, and he is a kind enough person to want to help her.
+<br><br>
+She comes close to despising him for it.
+
+***
+
+She hates those romance stories sometimes, just for making her long for something unattainable.
+
+***
+
+It takes a week of him being truly gone before she realizes that she doesn't want him to leave her at all.
+<br><br>
+For the first time in a very long time, she puts down her book and picks up her phone.
+<br><br>
+He used to shout out the endings to the Sherlock Holmes books that his father read him when he was younger. He was surprisingly good at it, and as he grew older this talent stayed with him. He was especially disparaging of romance novels.
+<br><br>
+"There's only two ways to end a romance." He would say, "True love, or a horrible tragedy."
+<br><br>
+She doesn't know if she believes that love is quite that simple, but she finds that she enjoys hearing him profess this outlook, and doesn't disagree with him.
+
+***
+
+He doesn't know, however, where they fit in.
+<br><br>
+And if he could shout out the ending to their story, he knows what he would choose. He knows what he wants for them, but for one of the first times, he finds himself unsure of the outcome.
+<br><br>
+He shouts three little words to her one day, and can't bring himself to regret it.
+<br><br>
+She cries when he does.
+
+***
+
+[I love you]
+<br><br>
+Author: [AndThenYou](http://www.deviantart.com/art/Real-186741075)
diff --git a/exampleSite/content/post/to_write_love_on_her_arms.md b/exampleSite/content/post/to_write_love_on_her_arms.md
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..aca5b8d
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@@ -0,0 +1,49 @@
++++
+date = "2008-03-06"
+title = "To Write Love on Her Arms"
++++
+
+We’re riding in the car like we always do, always on our way to somewhere else. I’m driving, passing highway sign after mile marker, counting the interstates until we get where we’re going.
+<!--more-->
+<br><br>
+She’s asleep in the passenger seat, skin porcelain pale in the choked dawn sun. It’s streaming through the windowpane in flashes that mark time with the gaps in the trees, just a few hundred miles more.
+<br><br>
+Somehow I can’t see how this is a real thing, real like the way hearts break, but like floating up above here, just looking down into her beautiful face. I shake myself like it was only a dream, but here she is, right here in the passenger seat.
+<br><br>
+Concentrate, just for a second, curve around the bend before I return to contemplation. I don't like where we’re going now, because to me she is too perfect for the fate that awaits her there, somewhere out beyond my lover’s reach.
+<br><br>
+But still I drive on through the puddles of sunlight, hoping that she won’t wake up and feel the pain, hoping that this is the best thing to do. I feel the tears start to drip down my cheeks, and one glance to the mirror tells me that they glisten in the sunlight. It’s beauty smothered by agony, and I just can’t seem to appreciate it.
+<br><br>
+A while later there’s a delicate stirring from the seat at my side, and I rub a hand quickly beneath my eyes, refusing to show her my weakness. But she always knows me so well.
+<br><br>
+“Danielle,” she whispers softly, “don’t hide from me.”
+<br><br>
+I don’t respond, but she knows that I heard, she can see it in the tightening around my eyes. She knows I don’t want to do this.
+<br><br>
+There’s a pen sitting in the cup holder between the front seats, a red pen I never use. She picks it up carefully, rolling it over and around in her delicate fingers for a moment before removing the cap. Before I can truly understand what is happening, I feel the cold ballpoint tip on my forearm, but I can’t look away from the road to see what she’s doing. I can only shiver at the contact, how close she is to me.
+<br><br>
+“It’s the next exit,” I whisper, and I turn my face quickly to avoid seeing the pain in her reaction. I take the turn the green sign says to, Exit 52. It’s the number I most despise, and the next sign is even worse: Hospital 2 miles. But still my foot is steady on the gas, hands on the wheel at ten and two o’clock, reverted to driving classes from nervousness.
+<br><br>
+We pull into the parking garage, and the old sedan comes to a halt. I look down at my arm. “Love from Fay,” is written inside a heart, and I almost lose it then, almost. I have to be strong for her, for me.
+<br><br>
+“Look at me,” she says, bringing her too pale hand up under my chin and turning my face towards hers. I do not resist. Her other hand grips one of mine, and I grasp back strongly.
+<br><br>
+Her eyes are still emerald green, her hair still tattered black and red. She’s the most beautiful person I have ever seen; will ever see. I couldn’t take my eyes off her if I wanted to.
+<br><br>
+“If there was one thing that you could tell the world,” I begin quietly, “what would it be?”
+<br><br>
+Her eyes hold steady on mine, and I feel a heartbeat pulse between us, a magical connection. All I can do is wait for her to answer.
+<br><br>
+“Love,” she says, and then her voice breaks. I can tell she’s about to cry, but I have to hear what she has to say. Finally, I feel her squeeze my hand with all the strength she has left. “Love everyone; everything; every second. You never know when they’re going to take it all away.”
+<br><br>
+I feel her frail frame collapse into mine, dropping my chin and hand. She’s sobbing the way that was inevitable, and I gently lift her chin with one hand, wiping her tears away with my thumb like that could make it all better. I’m not fooling anyone.
+<br><br>
+There are two young women
+in a busted old sedan
+sitting in the parking lot of a hospital
+<br><br>
+One is dying
+<br><br>
+Love never will
+<br><br>
+Author: [moonfreak](http://www.deviantart.com/art/To-Write-Love-on-Her-Arms-79303818)
diff --git a/exampleSite/content/post/wasteland.md b/exampleSite/content/post/wasteland.md
new file mode 100644
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++++
+date = "2011-12-19"
+title = "Wasteland"
++++
+
+Eliot hunched his shoulders against the wind, the relentless sand picking at the seals of his gloves and headgear trying to find a way inside. He watched the glow of the sun disappear beyond the horizon, his waking period now fully begun.
+<!--more-->
+<br><br>
+It had been weeks since he'd seen another soul, perhaps years. Who kept count of such things anymore anyways?
+<br><br>
+The last city he'd abandoned to the ravages of this dust bowl planet had been a graveyard, he'd taken what he could carry, what little food and fresh water remained before the decay and vermin forced him back into the desert, back to his search for living humans.
+<br><br>
+There had to be more, they were so prolific on this rock before the coming, had spread so far, achieved so much. He'd visited countless monuments to the species' achievement here, each sprawling steel and glass expanse a testament to human drive and ambition, each barren, vacant ghost-town a reminder that the planet doesn't welcome strangers, doesn't tolerate intrusion.
+<br><br>
+Midway through this day's dark period, upon cresting a dune, Eliot found himself bathed in the glow of a distant settlement, one surrounded on three sides by mountainous ranges and shielded from the wind on the fourth side by the ragged standing wave of sand from which he now surveyed.
+<br><br>
+A few kilometers to either side and he would have walked right by, never knowing it was here. "How fortuitous," his muffled voice strange inside the protective shell of his headgear.
+<br><br>
+It would take hours still to reach the city walls, and Eliot was tired and hungry. He slipped his backpack off his shoulders, careful not to catch a seam on the rigging and tear the fabric. The tiniest of holes in one's armour out here could spell almost certain death. He dropped the pack to the ground, then sat cross legged with it before him and, unlatching the top, rummaged through the contents. He extracted a can of protein slurry, and another of complex carbs. These he attached to the receptors under the jawline of his helmet, one on either side. There was a rushing sound as the suit flushed the sand from within the joints, then made the connection and opened the seal. He closed his eyes and tolerated the thick fluid as the pressurized canisters forced it down his throat. It was best if one held their breath while eating.
+<br><br>
+Emptied, he ejected the spent cans and tossed them aside. By morning they would be just so much dust blowing in the wind.
+<br><br>
+He similarly attached and emptied a canister of fresh water into his suit, mixing it with the distilled sweat and urine of the past few weeks. He'd be resupplied soon, he could afford the luxury of fresh water.
+<br><br>
+Through a battered range finder he surveyed the walls of the city in the distance. Flood lights cast long shadows of the battlements and gun turrets that dotted the perimeter walls. They hurt his eyes if he looked directly at them. The city must be well stocked with battery stores if they could waste such energy through the night. Solar equipment perhaps, a rarity on a world where the very air worked tirelessly to reduce every exposed surface to grains of sand. Maybe nuclear. That would be a find indeed.
+<br><br>
+Fed and watered, Eliot shouldered his pack and began the long walk to this remains of civilization.
+<br><br>
+Inside, he could feel his contagion begin to boil. It knew as well as he that fresh meat awaited.
+<br><br>
+By the time the sun rose again, he'd have razed this city to the ground as he'd done so many times before.
+<br><br>
+His planet didn't welcome strangers, didn't tolerate intrusion.
+<br><br>
+Author: [SRSmith](http://srsmith.deviantart.com/art/Wasteland-274823164)
diff --git a/exampleSite/data/.gitkeep b/exampleSite/data/.gitkeep
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e69de29
--- /dev/null
+++ b/exampleSite/data/.gitkeep
diff --git a/exampleSite/layouts/.gitkeep b/exampleSite/layouts/.gitkeep
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e69de29
--- /dev/null
+++ b/exampleSite/layouts/.gitkeep
diff --git a/exampleSite/static/.gitkeep b/exampleSite/static/.gitkeep
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e69de29
--- /dev/null
+++ b/exampleSite/static/.gitkeep
diff --git a/exampleSite/themes/.gitkeep b/exampleSite/themes/.gitkeep
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e69de29
--- /dev/null
+++ b/exampleSite/themes/.gitkeep
diff --git a/images/screenshot.png b/images/screenshot.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4825523
--- /dev/null
+++ b/images/screenshot.png
diff --git a/images/tn.png b/images/tn.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0ad1fdf
--- /dev/null
+++ b/images/tn.png
diff --git a/layouts/index.html b/layouts/index.html
index 23a4223..9aa38a9 100644
--- a/layouts/index.html
+++ b/layouts/index.html
@@ -5,7 +5,7 @@
 {{ partial "header.html" . }}
 
 <section>
-  {{ range (.Paginator 10).Pages }} 
+  {{ range (.Paginator 5).Pages }} 
     {{ .Render "summary" }}
   {{ end }}
 </section>