Deciding that someone is much less likely to look behind the aluminum door, you yank it open and step inside. Reaching up, you pull a chain and turn on the single hanging bulb.

It's a janitor's closet.

You shut the door behind you and sit yourself carefully down on a crate of disinfectants. You eye the leaking mop and bucket propped up in the corner and look around at your less than grand surroundings. There are some plywood shelves along one wall, stocked with urinal cakes, a bag of wood shavings (to clean up vomit you suppose) and many, many cans of cleansers and bleaches.

If it weren't for the knowledge that that guy was still out there, you would leave right now. As it is, you stand up and switch off the bulb.

This place looks much better in the dark.

After about 15 minutes, you decide it's probably safe now. You get to your feet again and are about to open the door open it's yanked open from the other side.

"Ack!" You yelp.
 

"Whoa!" Yelps the guy holding the door. He's about 5'10 with long dark hair and a leather jacket, and suddenly, he's in the closet with you, he reaches up and pulls on the light. "Wh-what are you doing?" You ask as he pulls the door shut behind you, this place definitely isn't big enough for two!  "Did Tracy send you?" He whispers.

"Who?!" You take a step back and trip over a box of rat poison, he reaches out and catches you.

"I'm Vachon," He tells you.

"That's nice." You nod, pushing his arms off your person.

"Tracy didn't send you did she?" He smiles at you.

"Um, no." You push your hand through your hair, "I don't even know anyone named 'Tracy.'"

"Then," He pauses and blinks, "what are you doing in this closet?"

"What? Only people who know Tracy are allowed in here?" You snap, getting a bit nervous sharing your 5' by 5' hiding place with some leather clad weirdo.

He smiles at you then, "No, Tracy just sometimes leaves me notes in here." He points to a small pink envelope tucked behind a dusty box of light bulbs.

"Oh," You mouth as he reaches past you for it, his entire arm brushes across your front. "Um, can I maybe, get out of here?"

He smiles at you, but then proceeds to read his mail. He frowns suddenly and rolls it into a ball. "Women." He mumbles.

You're beginning to wonder if you're -ever- going to get out of here. You: