Down the Long Hall

I walked past our threshold and followed the patterned carpet down the hallway. It felt wider than the whole living room floor. Near the middle of the hall, the shiny metal doors of the elevator caught a strip of overhead fluorescent light. Leaning against the wall trim was an unopened cardboard parcel, taped tight with heavy brown paper. I didn't try to climb it or tear the edges. I just walked around the corner of the box, pressed one palm flat against the cool matte cardboard, and sat down on the soft gray floor runner beside it. From here, the corridor looked like an endless straight tunnel. Taking it slow is the best way to get your bearings.