She complained her dead husband was spending too much money. This space wasn't made for people. At last a good breeze comes in through the door to the parking lot, cools me down. No more banging upstairs. From the corridor footsteps getting louder.
Someone strides through the front door.
He walks quickly, intent on the door to the parking lot. We work in the corner far to his left. He's lost, this guy, probably looking for the lobby. Jeans, no cuffs. Beige imitation leather shoes.