The House of G
11:05 am. Driving. You realise you have time. Quick turn. Park. You approach the door and knock. You hear movement. After a couple of minutes the door opens. Gavin, sleepy-eyed and wearing a gown over his pyjamas, smiles and asks you to come in.
You enter, stepping over a shirt and shoe, and something that looks like a broken biscuit. Gavin asks if you’d like a coffee. White with two, you tell him. He opens a cupboard and it’s empty. He turns around and chooses a dirty mug from the sink and rinses it, then makes you a coffee.
As he places it on the table you could swear you see a cloud of something cough up from the table at the precise moment the base of the mug touched the surface. You chat about how busy life is, and Gavin mentions how there are never enough hours in the day for him to do everything he wants to. You wonder what he does.
When leaving, out of the corner of your eye you see a quick movement across the room. You abstain from thinking about what it may have been.