Freedom (Fragment 2)

I can still remember the noise so well. There’s a specific noise a human body makes by bumping into an old door, when late at night it tries to instinctively make its way to a flat, after having had too much to drink in some forsaken pub. That’s a disgusting noise with which I’m all too familiar. I also know the exact sound of various objects dragging along or barely touching said wooden door, when people carrying them seem to find the hallway far too narrow. They inevitably rub their bags, their coats, their shoulder, their hips against that door, against any door they walk by, but many ignore this particular matter.

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