I casually kick the door, but an unobserved screen door replies louder than anticipated. I balance the pizza on the palm of my hand and reach for handle with the other. I swing open the door and hold it with my foot. I give the real door three crisp knocks. When I remove my foot, the screen door swings back, making another crashing sound.
As I wait, I stare at the moths bouncing off the round, buzzing light. Moths aren’t exactly the smartest beings on Earth, are they? They don’t even notice all the other moth bodies clumped in the bottom of the light fixture, all the moths that actually managed to get in; what evolutionary advantage possibly came by instinctively running into bright things? I suppose they would be good at getting out of tunnels: I suppose.
I look back to the door and perform the knocking maneuver on it again. What’s taking so long? Maybe this is a prank call; the porch light is on, though: I don’t know. I check a window, but all the lights are off; all I can see is my reflection: I need a haircut. It’ probably a good thing, though, if needing a haircut is the only thing I can complain about when it comes to my looks; The hair isn’t really bad looking itself either: I’m just bad at remembering to wash underneath my bangs; my forehead gets oily and it’s a prime acne spot; the hair also hides it, though, so it’s not that bad, I guess; but it’s still gross.
Heavy, frustrated air forces itself from me. This is taking way too long: I’m leaving. I start to walk down the stairs, but jump when I hear the scream of a woman from inside the house. Why did I jump? That wasn’t scary; it was surprising, but not scary. I walk back up the steps and knock on the door, telling myself this is their last chance to answer. “Hello?” I ask the door.
