Door

I'll put a door for Charlo. He'll open it straight away. No fear or hesitation. He's been left stewing for too long.

The door will open to a dark stairwell only intermittently lit by a malfunctioning light. He'll go down the steps, two at the time and into the street. He won't turn to answer the well dressed -woman calling after him. Ordinarily he would eye any vaguely female presence, weigh up his chances. But he won't. More pressing things to do. Like getting the hell out of there. Fast.

He'll step into the noise and lights of the street. The cold air will hit him in the face and he'll feel alive and invigorated. He'll merge in with the crowd, stepping at the same pace as them. Like a shoal of fish. But they won't yet know he is a shark.

He'll have a purpose. Finding the dimly lit bar. The one with the "honeys". The place he belongs in.

And he'll find it. Because I will lead him to it. Make no mistake. Charlo may have free will, but he doesn't have control over his own destiny. I do. As far as he is concerned, I am God.