a man. morning sun. a quiet street. scene set. the man leaves the house, turns back to see if the door is locked, really shut, a neighbour returns to fetch the umbrella he has forgotten, it won’t rain when i have it, and the other neighbour, who is not a neighbour but lives 2 storeys up and 3 flats to the right, has not yet left the house (nobody has seen him in a while, i wouldn’t be surpirsed if he’s found stone dead and semidecayed). the man opens the door, locks it again, tries the door knob, the neighbour says sorry, opens the door, goes in. the man waits until the neighbour has left again with his umbrella, tires the door knob, it’s open. he locks the door and leaves.
the other neighbour, the one who isn’t a neighbour at all, was found eventually, dead and gone but fully putrefied. heart attack. apparently. makes you think.
the last sentence is to mention sponge and breadroll who have witnessed many scenes like that, albeit not this particular one, to tell all about it.