Red Door #72
It waited. And watched. People streamed by on the Paris street it called home. Some lost in thought, some late for work. One munching a croissant, another walking a mini dog on her morning constitution. Still it waited. And watched. One of these people would not be a passerby. One would have The Key. Which would fit perfectly. Slipped into the keyhole, it would slide the latch and unlock #72. Only then would the door swing open, just enough to let this one pass. Into a different light, a different sound, a different world.
The door creaked in anticipation.
It waited. And watched.
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