(Or, how unshut doors make all the difference.)
I walk into my hairstylist's salon to get a haircut and find a door ajar on the right. It opens into a tiny kitchen where a grizzled old woman and a young moustachioed man are cooking. I don't ever remember seeing a door here, let alone a kitchen, and for a moment think I've entered the wrong house.
circa Feb 16, 2005