While I waited, with knitted brows, the door opened, and a frail man with stark white hair stood in the doorway.
Me mouth froze. The bloke wore an oversized rust-colored turtleneck sweater and what resembled a pair of yellow pajama bottoms. That caught me off guard.
The bloke said sort of in a weak tone, “May I help you?”
“I was searching for somebody,” I mustered up the nerve to say.
“People came over before you.” His skin appeared white. He wore canvas blue, tennis shoes. “The day is still young. Why don’t you come in? Tell me, who you are looking for? Doors are for coming and going, not standing in them.”
With eagerness, I accepted his invitation and followed him into his house. Me own mind conjured up a small fantasy on what I wanted to see. This isn’t what I imagined.
I entered a living room with paintings on one of the sidewalls of drinking glasses that I couldn’t count at the moment. Then, I saw a table with cubes that stood alone and others in formation against an empty wall. What does it mean?