An handsomely-constructed old house stands on the edge of the park. The two of you walk up the short garden path to the front door. "Wait here," Grodin says, and disappears through the cat flap fitted into the bottom of the door. A moment later, he returns with the door key between his teeth. He drops it at your feet.
"Please. Come in for a cup of coffee or something. It's the least I can do." He gives a frustrated sigh, and looks down at his doggy paws. "Actually, it would appear even a cup of coffee is beyond my capabilities now. But I trust you know how to boil a kettle."
He follows on your heels as you pick up the moist key and let yourself into his home. You notice the familiar, comforting smell of dog as you step across the threshold. A few well-chewed dog toys litter the hallway. The decor, you notice, is quite dated - mostly faded 1970's browns and worn furniture. The curtains are half-drawn, casting the house into perpetual gloom. You see no photographs of friends or family hung on the peeling wallpaper.
"This way," Grodin says, leading you through into the kitchen. As you step inside, a dog - a tiny terrier like Grodin himself - leaps excitedly from its frayed basket beside the fridge and bounds up to Grodin. It bounces around him with manic energy, and for a moment you actually lose track of which one is which.
Copyright 2000 - 2025 21 x 20 Media All rights reserved. This site is property of 21 x 20 Media
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.22 seconds at 4:30pm on Feb 08, 2025 via server WEBX2.