Had I known there would be blood sucking monsters behind that green door, I never would have opened it. It’s not like there were any clues to what lurked, awaiting. To be perfectly honest, until the day I opened it, I’d walked past that door a thousand times without it attracting so much as a millisecond of my attention.
A yellow cardboard sign on the green door caught my eye on Monday of this week. On it appeared the number “10” in black colored, carefully crafted calligraphic script. I only noticed it because the three colors in contrast almost lept out and mugged me. On Tuesday, the number was higher: “19,” which I thought was weird, but not weird enough to stop me. I was in a hurry.
Wednesday, the number was up to “23.” I stopped, faced the door and stepped backward into the street to get a better look at the building. Nondiscript at best it was.
Today I went beyond the green door. A nurse stuck a needle in my arm and took a pint of blood. I got $25 for my donation.
I might stop again.