Juan Gris The Guitar

Juan Gris The GuitarJuan Gris Man in the CafeJuan Gris Breakfast
climbed quietly up to the narrow landing and opened the first door he came to. It was the room at the front. The air was hot and stuffy, and Will opened the glass door onto the balcony to let in the night air. The room itself was small and furnished with things that were too big for it, and shabby, but it was clean and comfortable. Hospitable , and he wasn't standing quite close enough to be knocked over. He fought hard: knee, head, fist, and the strength of his arms against it, him, her—
A girl about his own age, ferocious, snarling, with ragged dirty people lived here. There was a little shelf of books, a magazine on the table, a couple of photographs in frames.Will left and looked in the other rooms: a little bathroom, a bedroom with a double bed.Something made his skin prickle before he opened the last door. His heart raced. He wasn't sure if he'd heard a sound from inside, but something told him that the room wasn't empty. He thought how odd it was that this day had begun with someone outside a darkened room, and himself waiting inside; and now the positions were reversed—And as he stood wondering, the door burst open and something came hurtling at him like a wild beast.But his memory had warned him