I walk down the hallway before going to bed to shut the blinds in the kitchen. While closing the blinds, I notice a man on my rooftop in the corner smoking a cigarette. It’s dark, but I can tell he’s a fatty with sparse, frizzy hair (almost like a clown), and judging by the striped boxers, white tank and slippers he’s probably coming from bed.
I can’t stand these intrusions into my personal space. Why can’t people leave me alone? I close the blinds with final glimpses of the man through the rigging holes. He almost appears to mock me in his anchored, defiant posture.
Could it be that I’m I being scoped for a robbery? I become very paranoid. Walking back down the hallway I look over my shoulder to the doorway. In the miniscule light from the smoke detector I see a shape resembling a human figure about five feet five inches in height. I quickly rush the object and start throwing punches.
It’s not a person; my fists hit nothing but air. It was all in my head. I was shadow-boxing.