A Simple Way of doing Things

    There he was, skulking around again with the naivete of a newborn child.  He crept to the hind quarters, the frontal area, about every angle there was to be skulked, he skulked it.  There was a noise.  A slamming of a door then a shout, both as faint and distant as if they were mere miles apart.  Yet, he could still hear it, another shout, another slamming of a door.  He was beginning to perceive the idea that someone, somehow, was searching for him.  He hid in a nearby closet as the footsteps grew closer.  A ceasing of footsteps, a turning of a doorknob, a man's face appearing in the doorway, head emerging first, then following is the rest of his body.  The man shouted, "Hey Ho!" then left as if something about the room displeased him.  The skulking man waited, with baited breath, heartbeat slowing, nearing suffocation, when the footsteps became faint once again, he released the air , relieved, obviously aware that he was about to die in a closet.  He emerged from the closet, brushing the dust off of his clothing, as if what he wore was expensive and could not be ruined.  Surprisingly, it was as such, the man wore a luxurious-looking suit and tie, cufflinks of only the highest of silver.  Silk-threaded laces found their way smoothly around the suede Armani shoes, complimenting his hair, which was fashioned remarkably impeccable.  He had no loose hair strand, his face gave off a sense of clean-shavenness, he was a man of class, yet to be skulking around this place was non-sensible.  That was his simple way of doing things.