He walked around the perimeter of the long, strip-mall like row of rooms, counting the numbers. 618… 619… 620… at 621 he stopped, took a deep breath and rapped his knuckles on the door twice.
It opened almost immediately. The warmth of the room and the scent of something—soup maybe, rushed from the room in a blast of domestic comfort and hit him head on. In sweat pants, a t-shirt and bare feet, the girl stood in the doorway.
“You never told me your name.”
The full text of this piece is located here at my archive. It is nowhere near perfect, but I liked it and my goal was to finish it.
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