Breezeway

A cold draft sneaks through the screen on the door, ever so slightly pushing it open. The potted plants shiver and shake, decayed leaves rustle and a few drop to the carpet. Loud snores pierce the air, slightly obstructed by mucus and phlegm ruminating in the throat. A man slept on the breezeway, wrapped in a winter coat that reeked of booze. The snoring would stop for a moment as if the man put one foot through Death’s door, but resumed again after a cough cleared the airways. A little boy watched the man sleep from another door that led into the house. He wanted the man to come inside, but he wasn’t sure who the man might be when he woke up.

The boy shut the door, and left the man out in the cold.

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