The Man With An Especially Nice Suit By Mackenzie Fox

As the thick clouds of fog rise from the sewer grates into the cold night, contributing to the ominous atmosphere being established, the 19th century London-esque road, which was not, in fact, constructed in the 19th century but at a later time to create a dated feel for the neighborhood in which the story takes place, was considerably empty due to the rain showers that had ended prior to the beginning. The protagonist donned a long dress coat, black, undoubtedly to serve as an addition to the foundation of the story's darker tones. He stops, coughs. The sound echoes down the street, emphasizing just how alone he is. His walk continues. The noise from each step is overly dramatized, yet he takes no notice. He stops again, for he has heard something. Listening closely in the stillness, the sound of a far-off dog can be heard. The man's face grows pale as he returns to walking at a quickened pace. Another bark is heard. The man breaks into a sprint as horrific images, based upon his fear of dogs that will be explained over the course of the story through well placed flashbacks to his traumatic childhood, fill his head. Reaching his apartment building, he hurdles up the three steps leading to the doorway and tears his overfilled keyring from his coat pocket. Rushing, he fumbles with the keys, developing a slightly suspenseful mood. As he jams the proper key into the look and quickly turns it. The lock clicks open, the sound of it louder than normally possible, and the door is hastily swung ajar, leaving just enough room necessary for the man to duck inside and seal the entrance way behind him, re-locking it in the process. Leaning back against the door, he takes a deep breath and composes himself. He stands up straight with excellent posture, removes his coat, and places it upon the hangar that stands beside the doorway. He is wearing an especially nice suit.