A black-gloved hand takes the remote. The television clicks on, the volume adjusted.
Too loud and the landlord appears on the doorstep. Too soft, the inevitable grunts and groans draw another kind of unwanted attention. The dangerous kind.
He returns the remote to the table and slings his backpack over his right shoulder. It’s heavy… his tools of malice usually are.
He snakes his way towards the lone bedroom, pausing in front of the closed door. The urge to reach for the doorknob is strong.
Not so fast, he thinks. After all, this is the moment before.
The best part.
