42A

He wanted to die. I saw him. I heard him. He wanted to die. He got in and he went upstairs. He was standing right outside my door and he was breathing hardly, painfully. There was no light in the staircase, it was dark. No other source of light than the dim and deadening light from the streetlights. And there he was, in complete stillness. I saw his silhouette through the peephole. A bizarre steam was emanating out of his clothes. He was wet. I opened the door and I hit him to dead. Wrench. I turned on the lights just to see how he looked like. Yes, he was a man and yes, he was wet. I was right.