Rainy Sunday Afternoon

We hear the door creak open at the end of the hallway. Fitzer looks intently at our door and we listen to the steps approach. They stop. Across the hall, the key pops in the lock. The door opens, closes.

Fitzer swivels his head toward me.

Do you wish it was The Egyptian? I ask him.

Myeah, he concurs.

I wish it were The Egyptian, too.

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