The key slid into the lock. Richard entered his apartment, carrying his mail and briefcase. He felt the stress leave his body as he crossed the threshold. He loved his apartment. Although it was much smaller than the house he had shared with his now ex-wife, it had a writing room. A room dedicated to the true passion of his life.
Richard entered his sanctuary carrying a letter for the wall. Another story rejected. The wallpaper glue and letter dropped from his fingers. He smelled a faint fragrance of oranges. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. “Someone’s been here,” he thought.