Now let us imagine a front door and a hall. The door is green and has been left open. There's no need to close it. Sunlight and warm air welcome the visitors. They're free to come on in any old time. As is the sound of a passing car. Maybe a neighbour. If the door's open there's no need to ring.
If you stand in the hall, you get the smell of the place right away. It's a smell of coats hanging on pegs, the smell of bacon frying. The earth smell, flower aroma coming through the back door. Furniture polish. Maybe the smell of a visitor. Each person carries their own scent. Powerful scents, vivid as colour.
There's a white path leading from the front door. A road and a mirror held in the sky opposite. Except the house across the way has different occupants – in shape and physical appearance.
Here comes one now. In a few months time he'll go through the worst thing any human can. Come out the other side a broken man.
He'll accelerate the already more than steady flow of beer drinking. He'll give up on the shaving.
It will be winter time by then.
The door will, to keep the heat in and for no other reason, have to be kept closed.
But he'll be just as welcome. Called, beckoned to come inside where he'll sit with a trembling cigarette and start to tell his story.