Room 10
. . . a room that smelled of paint.
Faint voices, apparendy in an argument, came from behind the locked door.
"You know," said one, "that sounds like us in there . . ."
They tried the door but, naturally, it wouldn't open. The voices stopped when the doorknob rattled.
One picked up the umbrella. “It may rain where we’re going."
I signaled my approval and, after a short rest, we came to. . .

