A forever work in progress

Joe unfolded the letter in his hand and re-read the address contained midway down the page. Number 45, number 45 he repeats to himself in his mind before looking up at the glass pane with the large number 45 etched into it. He looks back down at the letter, the words Crown Street, Crown Street now echoing in his mind. He already knew that he was on Crown Street, largely because he’d checked the road sign at the end of the row of houses four times already in the last ten minutes. Self-doubt is a terrible affliction to carry the burden of when it strikes, all sense of reason and logic go sailing off into the wind. You’re left feeling like the small child who inexplicably let go of their balloon despite having been warned a dozen times or more not to let it go. Really though if he’s being honest with himself, it's not self-doubt that’s troubling him, he’s stalling for time, looking to give himself an out in this moment. Joe counts the steps in front of him, one through seven, atop of...