111 Words / Virtual photography / Writing

Waiting

He hunches on the edge of the bed, huddling deeper into his coat. The greying walls of the room press in, dissolving into tall shadows that pool over the ageing mustard carpet.

He stubs out his cigarette and lights another, bitter smoke curling against the low ceiling. His eyes are on the window, street lamps beyond its flaking wooden frame glowing weakly through the dusty glass.

A car slides into view; grinds slowly to a halt. Its bulky occupant passes; a dark silhouette. His stomach lurches at the sharp rap of knuckles at his door… he feels himself standing, reaching a clammy hand to turn the lock and pull it open.

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