Chapter Eleven
His apartment’s dark when I enter. Just the streetlight beaming in through one cracked blind allows me to steer my way and look for something to illuminate this scene for me. I find a floorlamp with a bowl in the shape of a budding tulip holding offerings its petals to the sky. I turn it on, and the light glows softly against the dark walls of the stranger’s apartment.
There’s a comfortable familiarity about his home, as though I’ve been here before, though I know I’ve never set foot here before. The incense of aging and well-polished wood, that’s like satin to my tentative fingers as I run them along its smoothness. His rooms have the look of Frank Lloyd Wright in lines and the use of glass and light. Shadows seem to move with me so I think he’s somewhere inside these
