There is a man at the door.
I watched him walk up the garden path from the vantage point in my living room, before he passed out of sight as he reached the front door. He kept his gaze forward as he journeyed through the garden, so I feel confident that he didn’t spot me as I watched his approach. He is wearing a long dark trench coat, tied up tight at the waist and with the collars turned up, and his hands are thrust into deep pockets. He completes his look with a short dark hat, tilted slightly forward to cover the upper part of his face. It gives him the look of a private detective from a noir film of yesteryear. I know for a fact that I have never seen this man before in my life.