Brett's hand tightened on mine as we approached. The old man peered from beneath the white-painted door he carried. Finally, he sighed and shrugged the door to the ground. "I'm here to let you out," he said, setting the door against the wall. He opened it; a pulsing darkness, shot through with colors, appeared where there should have been only bricks.
I turned to Brett, a question in my eyes, but he was already gone.
"I haven't got all day," the man snapped. "Are you going or not?"
I hesitated too long. He picked up his door and walked away.
That Pot Or Vase I Think
19 hours ago