He swung open the door to the garage, the squeal of the hinges echoing the squeal of his aged joints. Time wasn't catching up with him, it had him in it's grip and was having it's way with him, second by second, hour by hour, day by day.
It looks like there isn't going to be an easy way out of this one.
It looks like there isn't going to be an easy way out of this one.