503 The Flood, Ch. 17
Chapter Seventeen
There is a corner in our building that I once believed was haunted. The energy vortex residing there sucks in whoever is closest.
First our landlady on the third floor got sucked into her couch and spent days and nights in her black pajamas huddled over her laptop. When she moved out in the middle of the night, the tenant beneath her moved his desk to the same window, and began a several-years-long stint of hermitude. He was saved by online dating, and the woman who became his wife moved his desk to the kitchen, overlooking the garden.
That's when I moved my desk.
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My workspace by the window has been very productive, but it has definitely sucked me in. And today Dozer is going nuts over it. This spot right here is apparently the key to some sort of very important hack. The memories he brings me are panicked. Running, panting, nothing that really makes sense.
"Dozer, good boy," I say petting him between the ears, "Breath."
He gets closer to me, so I hug him, feeling his chest rise, and slow my breath with his.
The doorbell rings. Dozer barks.
I go to answer, but hesitate when the knocking starts. Not friendly. I hang back.
Something heavy hits the door from outside.
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