Santa s Gloves
The doorbell was insistent. It rang and rang. Then it rang and rang again. When it rang a third time following a pregnant pause, and commenced continuous ringing, I roused myself from my nice warm divan bed, despite one broken corner supported on a pile of books, and stumbled the five or six feet to the front door of my crappy one-room studio flat, where the rent was three weeks overdue and the bailiffs expected any day. I rubbed and unglued one eye and looked through the peep hole. That was a...