the boot dangles in mid-air, suspended by a single lace a churning pit of acid swells inside its container, threatening escape. the tv blurts useless garbage, the modern day alternative to white noise on the radio. invisible eyes are magnetically drawn the empty places on the table, as its lone occupant sits, and hastily gulps down tasteless titbits, unceremoniously stuffed down an unwilling gullet. the door slams, a brutal percussive jolt. later, the heater hums a cross between a g and g sharp, trying and failing, to melt the ice. softly padding down the hall, an ear pressed to a closed door. murmuring, that started at pianissimo slowly crescendos into a forte of clashing keys, dissonant minor seconds and unresolved chords then, a lone tenor starts his solo in the hall, a sonorific boom, drowning out all in his presence. a crash followed by colourful augmentation, signifies a near climax to the night's events. the door slams for the last time that night, yet another imperfect cadence and still the boot hasn't dropped.