No One Is Waiting Outside My Door
I took this picture a year ago today, through the peep hole in my apartment door. I had been here, in my new home, for a little over a month, and I had been ruminating about a poignant story I might write including a character who was not me but a scapegoat and therapeutic creative proxy whose quiet new life far away from where he everyone but still full of the mundane and lonely business of keeping one's self alive. In the story, the character would frequently stand at the peep hole of his apartment door, hoping that someone from far away might come to surprise him. He knew no one was coming. But still he couldn’t stop performing this ritual. He couldn’t totally let go of the fantasy. As I was writing-this-story-in-my-head, I decided to take a picture through my peep hole. I would, I thought, eventually enlarge the photo, and frame it and submit it to an art show. It’s title would be: NO ONE IS WAITING OUTSIDE MY DOOR. I knew there would be somebody who would see that prize-wi
