A Crack in the Door

The front door was left unlatched by a tiny sliver this morning. I stood still on the hardwood floor, tilting my head. A cool, crisp draft slipped through, tickling the fur on my nose. It carried the muffled chime of an elevator and a neighbor's distant footsteps. I took three quiet steps closer, gently nudging the heavy wooden edge with my forehead. It creaked just a millimeter wider, revealing the patterned carpet of the common corridor outside. I sat right on the threshold, resting my chin against the wooden frame, looking out at the big, quiet hall.