One


Of course, there is no monster in this maze. Still, I can't help but compare myself to Theseus as I unravel a bright red mitten and trail the lengthening string behind me.
The comparison is imperfect. Theseus' ball of yarn anchored him to the labyrinth's doorpost-a surefire exit strategy. My string dangles. Theseus delved into his labyrinth willingly, hunting the monster that haunted its halls. I . well, I'm not sure how I got here.
No Minotaur, though. That's a plus.
I pretend I'm a mythical hero hunting for an exit, because it's better than the reality: I was probably kidnapped, then dropped off in an abandoned building when they realized my net worth was in the red. Nobody's forking up a ransom for li'l old me.
I have no memory of the past . day? Maybe longer. I'm in an abandoned office building, or something like it. And whoever put me here took my clothes, and dressed me in the most ridicul-hmm.
There's a fork in the path.
I look back the way I've come-down a long, empty hallway. Not "empty" as in "devoid of people," but really empty. There are no seats set against the wall with cracking pleather cushions; no vending machines pimping sugary beverages; no polyethylene plants in plastic IKEA pots. And, more conspicuously, no doorways branch off, no dents deface the drywall, and no scuff marks mar the linoleum tile. I've seen nothing to distract me from this purgatorial plane of white.
But here, two paths diverge.
I look left. More hallway. I look right. Ditto. Each path is identical, as far as I can tell, and each promises an undifferentiated adventure in blandness.
I arbitrarily choose the right-hand passage and trail my mitten's innards around the corner. I revel in the vein of cherry red in a world of inoffensive whites.