rdking.net

I was leaving the house for work one morning when it occurred to me that I always left by the front door. And the thought remained with me all day, nagging like a popular tune. But there were other modes of exit—equally easy was the back door which gave me an awkwardness in character that seemed to dull the afternoon. And the sliding glass door to the patio left me docile and prone to lounge, lingering over lunch with a typist I could trust.

So all week I concentrated on the effects of each variance of departure—like Thursday when I knotted the sheets and slid out the bedroom window. You were in your backyard in a pondersome mood, watering the hydrangea. We nodded in passing.