26

My joints complain when I open the car door and stand on the damp sidewalk. Cutting cold runs through my body and I have to run down the cemented path in the garden to reach the door of the house. It is open, supported by carelessness, and I venture through the invasion of home. It is as small as I thought, and even less cozy than humanly can be considered habitable.

The first room is divided between living room and kitchen, compact and devoid of colors or furniture. The small and narrow corridor leads to two single doors, and the last one is open, letting out small and brittle muffled sounds. I open the first door, and find a bathroom as empty as the rest of the house, but I enjoy what I have access to. I only continue my exploration when everything is in order with my bladder.

I push the door ajar with the tip of my boot, cursing the aged wood for opening with a growing squeak. Hunter for what he is doing and raises the instrument in his hands, in a reflection of fright. It is a lar