Peering out

A man came to my door and unlocked it so that I could look out into the corridor. It is long. Closed doors extend in both directions. The corridor is horribly cold and grey and the walls are in a bad way with cracked plaster. It looks like a lunatic asylum in an Eastern bloc country. Which is entirely appropriate, I suppose.

‘The doors,’ he said. ‘You can walk past them, open them and look in, or open them and go through. As many as you like. Or you can stay here. Up to you.’

He gave me a nice dinner and left.


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