Weit offen

The first thing I noticed was that the door to my room was busted. I’d already kicked out a third of it during a violent tirade against Bryan, leaving it in woody shreds. Now the entire panel was gone, cleanly removed, pulled like chicken from the bone. The opening was just big enough for a small person to crawl through.

The second thing I noticed, once I’d entered my room, was the unmistakable odor of stinky Czech feet . . .

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