He moves through the building methodically, a quiet force of authority.
When he reaches my apartment, he nods curtly, eyes sweeping over the interior.
His inspection is quick, perfunctory, and soon he’s on to the next unit.
The whole process leaves me feeling exposed, vulnerable.
As the day wears on, my thoughts drift back to the biker and the dog.
There’s a story there, one that seems to intertwine with the threads of my own life.
Despite the unease, I’m drawn to it, compelled to unravel the mystery.
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