Scarlet door.

Answered by butcher trimming copious slabs of steak—a bloody bloody chore?

Opened by paranoid whose last wits are moonraking with personal demons—leaving both heart and soul sore?

Cracked by geologist turning from a calmly-cooled-like-a-batholith mood back into a fiery-fierce-magma temperament—due to knocks at a quarter until four?

Unlocked by Ms. Johansson, seeing red in the late-night memorizing of her script lines—teeming with hapax legomena never known before?

Opportunity leaves.

Then, returns—and slips sunny rain-check twixt frame and floor. ; )

Categories: Melange

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