one: nesting dolls

Upon Nathan’s return to the rooming house, standing on the front stoop and craning his neck, he squinted at the bright, thick haze above him in awe and disbelief. Within it, a sign slowly materialized, its shadows peeling away. Lopsided, creaking on its chain in the cold, dusty wind. 

The Fox and Weasel, the sign’s gothic letters proclaimed above a double-pointed arrow, one arrow pointing at the front door and the other at a second flight of stairs leading toward a cellar tavern. 

Which, Nathan wondered, was the Fox and which the Weasel? Or did both establishments share the same name and proprietor? When he arrived earlier, there’d been only one arrow and no cellar tavern, the rooming house’s windows dark as if swathed in blackout curtains.