Reading a short story by Murakami, I smile when there’s a knock at the door. The unnamed protagonist opens it. Often, the person on the other side is a woman, whom he invites in and offers food. They have amazing conversations, something weird happens, then she leaves.

The part I like best is the “knocking on the door” part. People would never think of barging in on your private time these days. But I feel like it wasn’t too long ago when we did.

You might be passing through your buddy’s neighborhood, and decide to pop by for a quick beer.

Or you might be passing by your grandma’s house, and decide to stop by unannounced just to say you love her.

Whatever the cost, I wish the culture of knocking on doors would come back.