The phone call...
A flowing stream of light streaked in from the little nick in the sturdy, wooden door. Strange patterns played on the wall opposite his study table as he sat at an angle, trapped within the wall and the door. Well, was it just a nick or several, created by the innumerable spats the door had had with the outside world, he mused. The light trickling in and the interplay of moving images were a delight to watch. The dancing minuscule dust particles that seemed to be moving to an unheard rhapsody was fine on a cool day such as this, but in bone-chilling winters the same crevices played havoc in the room, freezing him to the core. He stared for as long as he could at the play of light on the dappled wall, or was it the dappled light on the coarse wall that created the design? He had never gotten down to repairing it, either because he couldn’t or because he shouldn’t? That was the only dilemma playing out in his mind day in and day out, perpetual, present and pertinent . Well, ...