He could feel his fingernails. Generally they were kept short and orderly. Considerably shorter than long, his fingernails pressed against the tips of his fingers and he noticed a dark gathering. The elderly lady had appeared again. “It’s time for my restoration therapy.” said the elderly lady. The young man listened. “Don’t spend overly much time on your breakfast, once you are full be done with it.” she said. She walked up the stairs, out of sight. He placed the envelope in his jacket pocket once more. One less distraction. He could hear large, short yelps coming from upstairs. It sounded like a martial arts demonstration.
The air pressed on him, crushing his lungs.
The door to the outside was oak.
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