Beyond the Door

The front door stood cracked open by an inch. I squeezed past the rubber sweep, stepping out onto the covered porch. Outside was vast, cool, and damp. In front of me, red brick pavers formed a long, clean grid leading toward the steps. I paused. Six seconds of assessment. Out in the open, rain hissed against the concrete driveway, but beneath the gutter, a steady drip tapped the same spot every two seconds. A rhythmic count. I stepped forward along a straight mortar line to the shelter's edge, stopping just before the wet stone. A stray plastic plant tag lay crooked across the joint. I nudged it with my lower foot until it locked parallel into the groove.