The knocking at my office door pulled me away from the manuscript I'd been analyzing. As I stood, pain shot through my knees and I gingerly stretched my legs until I could hobble to greet my visitor.
On the other side of the door, a young woman stood with her arm raised, fist ready to knock again. I flinched back and she quickly lowered her arm.
Encountering another woman at The House was such a unique experience I took a few seconds to catalog her dark hair, pulled back into a neat, low ponytail, equally dark eyes positioned pleasingly over a nose that listed to the right enough to be noticeable, and lips that were either thin or pressed in annoyance.
I ignored my own untidy hair, falling out of the ribbon I'd hastily tied it in this morning, my wrinkled button-up shirt that I'd spilled tea on after breakfast, and my too-loose trousers that made the men I'd encountered from the parking lot to my office frown in disapproval.