Demise of a Doorman

The Demise of a Doorman Eric Ericson, ex wrestler, was staying at my boardinghouse. He had a job as a doorman (bouncer) at a local nightspot, but was fired for drinking on the job and could no longer pay for his room. I told him, with heavy heart, that he had to leave next day at noon. I went up to his room at eleven asked if I could drive him somewhere? Say, the bus station. Eric sat on a chair looking out of the window, it was a nice spring day and the mild breeze made the curtains flap like sails did on boats in the bay. He civilly thanked me, said he wasn’t going far. At precisely twelve a cold shudder went through the sleepy house and I froze not wanting to know what the wobble could mean. Half past twelve I went up to his room, Eric, the quiet man, hung from the end of a rope. The curtains billowed it had been such a beautiful day.