![]() The bars filled up the meter, and I smiled. Instead, I lifted my cell phone to the door’s little window, and checked the signal meter. I could vaguely hear it through the heavy metal door, and I knew it was that unique kind of late-night wind, the kind that was constant, cold, and quiet, save for the rhythmic music it made as it passed through countless unseen tree leaves. I remember shivering, though I wasn’t cold. Nothing moved, save the few sidewalk trees that shifted in the wind. Dim clouds, purple and black from the glow of the city, hung overhead. City-gloom hung over the dark street outside, and the traffic lights at the intersection in the distance blinked yellow. I looked through the heavy door’s small square window, and received quite the shock: it was definitely not lunchtime. I got to the stairwell, and took the stairs up to the building’s front door. I have no idea why I chose to do that, but it was fun giving in to the strange impulse not to break the droning hum of the soda machines, at least for the moment. I closed my door softly, and walked the other direction, taking care not to make a sound. I’m fairly sure nobody knows those machines are even down here, or my cheap landlady just doesn’t care to get them restocked. Two dreary soda machines stood by it I bought a soda from one the first day I moved in, but it had a two year old expiration date. On one end, a large metal door led to the building’s furnace room. I peered down the dingy grey hallway, made dingier by the fact that it was a basement hallway. I chalked it up to having not spoken to anyone but myself for a day or two. A small feeling of apprehension had somehow already lodged itself in me, for some indefinable reason. When I went out, I opened the door to my small apartment slowly. I did change my shirt, though, because it was lunchtime, and I guessed that I’d run into at least one person I knew. I figured I was just going out for a quick cell phone call. I looked in the mirror before I went out, but I didn’t shave the two-day stubble I’ve grown. As the tingle of fear fades, I’m feeling a little ridiculous for being scared at all. I’d call with my cell phone, but reception’s terrible down here. The last e-mail I got from anybody was a friend saying he’d talk to me when he got back from the store, and that was yesterday. Everyone I normally talk to online while I program has been idle, or they’ve simply not logged on at all. That’s the first thing that crept up on me. Maybe I just haven’t talked to anyone in awhile. I’m not sure when I first started to feel like something was odd. ![]()
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