The door always swung open about an inch or so, and that really bothered me. My sense of closure on everything made me fix that, by putting a thumbtack above the door, and swinging a small piece of pipe cleaner from the tack.

I worked perfectly.

Shortly after fixing the damn thing, one night, I opened it to get a pair of briefs off one of the shelves at the top of the closet section. The actual clothes rack wasn’t very high, hanging like in a closet. It was lower, not even at eye level. I closed it and latched the top with the pipe cleaner. I went in the bathroom to take a shower, carrying my briefs and a tee shirt with me.

I tossed the briefs and the tee on the back of the toilet bowl, and then lifted it to take a piss. In doing so, my fresh, clean briefs fell from the top of the toilet lid and into the basin of the toilet.

I fished them out and tossed them in the sink. I showered, dried off, and then wringed out the briefs and tossed them over the shower rail. I would simply go get another pair. I wrapped my towel around my waist and walked back to my room.

I walked over to the chiffarobe and started to open the door. It was already hanging open; open wider than it usually did even before I put the little latch on it.

Someone had opened the thing and not even closed it. I frowned, and as I stood there, the door shimmied just a little. I could see my reflection in the mirror, and it moved, just a little.