We have a small building in which we work.
Not so long ago, a new cleaner appeared, a young maid slightly over twenty, with the intelligence of a fifth-grade and the eyes of a poor cow.
He killed me the day before.
I am sitting in a warm and light toilet, reading a book.
Here steps behind the door, pull the pen, the door is closed.
Five-second pause and the alarming voice of Vicky:

Who is there?? to

So what to answer, Blake? The militia? The sanitary? The Santa?? to

Through the compressed laughter he gave up his own!! to

seemed to calm.