Words. I have words. My words are afraid of my mouth. They stay in my head until I pick up a habit. The chair is against the door. No one in. No one out. You can't peek through the keyhole. Nothing is happening. The lights will flicker, but it doesn't matter. Open your eyes, they can't hear you. Don't move away from the window, you need the permit. All I can see is the keyhole, but the window contains me. I need to look, I need to know...what the keyhole holds.