you’re sitting in your house on a quiet evening when there’s a knock at the door. you open it a crack and a man pushes his way inside.
he’s a big man, tall and blustery, in a shiny new suit. at first you take him for a buffoon, but what he says becomes more rambling, more sinister.
he walks around your house. ‘it’s a dump,’ he says. he begins to stare at your wife.
when you tell him to leave he turns to open the door and in walk his goons, each more scary than the last. they have come into your home from that other side of life, the one that doors protect you from.
you could make a break for the back, but you realize: all the exits have been locked.
the big man is circling now, talking crazy. he loves to hear himself. his gang are looking at you with hatred.
you could bargain, you could fight.
but what you do is look him straight in the eye.
who is this man? why is he here? what does he want?
in the space beside you, in the hollow of your arm, your wife begins to cry.