RichDrama
The Dramatic Work of Rich and Joyce Swingle
In the center of the spiral sat a single office chair. On it, a typewriter. The paper in the roller read:
Suite E-520 was different. It had no sign. 1250 west glenoaks blvd., suite e-520 glendale, ca 91201
To reach it, you had to take the freight elevator behind the fire-damaged Italian restaurant, walk past the humming electrical room that smelled of ozone and old coffee, and turn down a corridor where the carpet turned from industrial gray to a strange, burgundy velvet. The door itself was unremarkable—pebbled steel, a single deadbolt, and a mail slot that had been welded shut from the inside. In the center of the spiral sat a single office chair
They unlocked Suite E-520 with a single, silent turn. The door opened inward into absolute blackness. No light switch clicked. No ambient glow from a computer or a window. Just a cold draft that smelled of petrichor and old paper. It had no sign
I dropped the papers. My hands shook as I picked up the Polaroid closest to my foot. It was me. Asleep in my own apartment. Last night. The date read tomorrow.
Here’s a short story developed around that specific address.