Without knocking, seven doors creaked open for Amanthra. She stood, still and curious in the middle of the street, peering into each home’s gaping mouth. On her left, a red house teeming with ivy summoned her like a matador. She took a deep breath from her two pinky toes and charily sauntered onto the front porch. A soft tune, something foreign, from the Ukraine or Turkmenistan, leaked from the half open door. Amanthra grabbed hold of the doorknob and pulled the door open wide. As she did this, the music from inside upsurged. "Hello", Amanthra asserted.
She stepped inside and closed the door behind her. Walls, clad in hundreds of tiny mirrors incessantly bounced her reflection back towards her.
"Hello, it’s Amanthra, from Dexter Street, I just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing. Are you here? If you are busy I can come back later. I don’t mind coming back another day, but eventually I would like to see how you are doing."
Amanthra eagerly awaited a response then finally heard someone clearing his or her throat in the other room. A high-pitched, feminine voice with a heavy Bostonian accent responded.
"I am here; I am in the back office doing my taxes. You can come on back here, but watch your step; the hallway is filled with papers. They multiply like rabbits, those papers. Anyway, Please do not not trip in my home. I just ran out of band-aids."