Write about something that is: locked.
Our latest house guests headed out this morning, leaving Kat and I on our own for five whole days before the next set arrive.
Hard to believe we're nearly into September already, isn't it?
I'd only been in the hotel room for about five minutes before my curiosity had kicked into overdrive. It was not a large space, really just big enough for the single bed at its center, the TV with its wobbly stand against the wall, and the cramped bathroom stuffed into a corner.
But it was large enough to have two extra doors within its confines.
Neither of which could be unlocked with the key the nicotine infused desk clerk had handed over after I had paid for my night's stay. No, that was strictly for the door that stood between me and the dark, stuffy hallway outside.
The doors did not connect to other suites; the architecture was all wrong for that. Nor did they lead to a fire escape or anything that could be seen from the exterior of the building.
I had checked that very thoroughly already. I was somewhat surprised that nobody had called the cops on me, actually.
Asking the clerk was an option, but not a very good one in my mind. If there was something secretive or sinister about either extra door he certainly wasn't about to let me in on it. No, I was going to have to figure it out for myself.
Thankfully, the timing was going to work out perfectly. Checkout wasn't until 10 am the next morning, which was conveniently one hour after the hardware store across the street would be open for business.