When they asked me if I had cold feet, my response was that I always have cold feet. My mother worries that I have poor circulation. But I know better. It’s that damned drafty door. If there’s a breeze, or if there isn’t a breeze, cold air comes rushing across the floor. Even in the middle of the summer.
“Maybe your apartment came equipped with a walk-in freezer,” my friend Jesse joked.
That doesn’t strike me as likely. I would love to be able to say with certainty that the door does not conceal a walk-in freezer. But I don’t have a key to the the door. That’s exactly the sort of detail I tend to overlook when I make important decisions. Choosing an apartment was easy enough, I just neglected to investigate what I assumed were closets. Sometimes I hear strange noises coming from behind the door.
What kind of noises? White noise. You know, static. Sometimes I think I hear voices. Come to think of it, that door is pretty damned creepy. Most of the time I don’t even remember that it’s there.