I took out a ceramic coffee mug and wiped off the packing dust.

I filled the little coffee maker I’d brought in my suitcase and pressed the start button.

The machine sputtered and hissed. I poured the dark coffee into the mug. I walked back toward the front entrance.

I stood in the hallway and took a slow sip of the hot coffee. I looked out through the open doorway at the quiet street.

The oak branches swayed gently in the afternoon breeze. Nobody was coming to ask me for money. Nobody was coming to tell me I was imagining things. I reached for the brass handle.

The front door shut with a solid, quiet click.