Fire door.

The windows of my corner, bottom-floor dormitory room in college faced a small parking lot. The door to the lot was a solid, heavy fire door that swung hard and closed loudly.

I was not liked, and most weekends I spent alone watching television. I was lonely, but there were people I wanted to be my friends. On Friday nights and Saturday nights, I could hear when they left for parties or dinners or plays.

I also could hear when they returned. If they were in groups, they spoke loudly. If they came back in pairs, they giggled. 

I did not sleep much on those weekends.