Room 28

“Ya wanna take a look, fine,” Ray says and asks at the same time, a rare talent.
“Sure,” Anthony agrees.
Ray mumbles about his gout while he plods ahead, limping on his left, swollen foot, the skin of which is a hodgepodge of blues, reds and yellows.
“Can’t wear regular shoes so I wear these open things which, of course, are freezin’ cold come this time of year.”
The two men stand outside of room 28. The door is blue, the number spray painted gold. Ray lifts the massive bunch of keys from the chain on his belt and dextrously flips through them. He quickly finds that of 28.
“You sure?”
“Yes,” Anthony says.
Ray expertly slides the key into the hole in the door and turns it until it clicks. He pauses, not immediately reaching for the door’s handle, and instead drops the bunch of keys to resume their resting place on his thigh and turns to face Anthony.
“She was a good kid, you hear. Some people been talkin’ bad about her since it all happened. But she was a good kid. Not like those others livin’ here. So if you gonna be sayin bad things after what you see behind this door, I’d really appreciate it if you’d keep that from reachin my ears.”
Anthony nods; looks at the door. Ray reaches out a hand and slowly depresses the handle. He pushes the door open from where he stands, never taking his eyes off Anthony.

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