[ The next day, Steve decides to take his bike out for a spin. Not for old time's sake, but because it's been a rainy week and he doesn't need the company van getting stuck in some leftover muck. The driveability of some of the roads around the lake was questionable enough without the weather coming into play.
If he'd taken that thought just one step further, he wouldn't have worn white shoes.
They look like chocolate-dipped cones by the time he's arrived at Hill House's semblance of a driveway. It had taken some slowing down and—ultimately—walking to spot the odd door in the greenery.
Knock-knock, he supposes.
He doesn't know what to expect, but he's here, with his bike pulled up right next to him—namely because there hadn't been any kind of obvious, practical place to stow it. ]
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If he'd taken that thought just one step further, he wouldn't have worn white shoes.
They look like chocolate-dipped cones by the time he's arrived at Hill House's semblance of a driveway. It had taken some slowing down and—ultimately—walking to spot the odd door in the greenery.
Knock-knock, he supposes.
He doesn't know what to expect, but he's here, with his bike pulled up right next to him—namely because there hadn't been any kind of obvious, practical place to stow it. ]