Wolfson Page 3 door. I checked the lock and got myself a glass of water.     I felt exhausted. I lay down on the couch, too tired to make it to bed.     I am not sure how long I slept. I felt someone watching me. With a start, I jumped up, grabbing the heavy ashtray off the coffee table.     No, no one.     Outside the window, the shape. I stared.     It looked like a dog sitting up, it cocked its head to the side.     He moved slowly, stopping several times to look back at me as I followed him down a tunnel. ____ Wayne H. W. Wolfson has been published widely, including in Word Riot, The Kit-Kat Review, Poetry Motel, Hobart and Winamop (UK). He lives in Northern California.