There had been countless times that John had cursed the existence of another presence while he was working, be it Sam poking in with a “How’s it going?,” his sister calling to b***h about the family, the neighbour pounding some ridiculous bass riff, or the birds outside the window having the nerve to be cheerful. But that day, in that room, was the most painful day of solitude in his life. He would normally be thrilled with the silence. He’d usually be grateful that the only thing daring to come close to him was the breeze. But by the time six P.M. rolled around, John was going stir-crazy. Not even The Cat had been by.
He’d heard something get settled by his door shortly after noon, but it had turned out to be nothing more than a tray with lunch, and the person that had brought it, assume
