In the dead of the night, someone was packing their suitcase in a frenzic rush.
Tattered socks of every colour were sprawled all over the bed sheets, along with bits of old newspapers and other kinds of everyday rubbish.
He stopped. Someone was coming in. He rushed into the bathroom, closed the door and waited.

He had a crimson ticket in his hand, which he now stared with feverish excitement (hadn't he noticed it before?). Someone called his name through the door and sighed. A great thump, followed by a skiiiiid suggested someone sitting by the foot of the door, waiting for him to come out. Or answer.

Our protagonist went over to the sink, slowly started to tear the ticket into eighths; then, out of the blue, started shredding them like mad. As if someone had clicked a certain switch in his body.

Then dawn fell. Everything was still, only the sound of the running fridge humming in the dim room.
Nobody came in; nobody came out.