Closing Time
The back door of the bar was a double door, twelve feet high, and made of an ancient wood that looked like it would give you splinters if you touched it. Adam touched it once. Placed the palm of his hand against it, pressed it against the surprisingly cold and the not so surprisingly hard wood. It had felt gritty and dusty, and he felt sharp pricks on his skin. He thought he had gotten splinters and when he removed his hand and inspected every finger and the palm, he found nothing. No dust, no grit, and no splinters. Yet his hand tingled, needles and pins fading, fading a moment later.
Those double doors had large iron rings to pull the doors open. Adam had never tried to touch the rings, let alone pull on them. If he opened the door, even accidentally, he'd have to walk tho
