The dog sat just outside the toilet, staring balefully at him. He was cross-eyed, one brown eye, one bloodshot. He looked like a disgusting medieval picture of the devil. Ander reached out to shut the door, and grabbed thin air. The door wasn’t there any more. It seemed to have been wrenched off its hinges. Must have been a very successful party. Had there been a party? How else could you lose a door?
The Journey Begins
Thanks for joining me!
Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton
