A small room above a bay window. A single bed, a table and chair, and a sink. I could manage something larger, with more conveniences, but I could never match the view.
Beside the door, about six feet up, three large nails driven into the wall. On the nail closest to the door, a pair of crutches. Below them, a newspaper covered in mud.
There is someone in the hall. A woman's voice. She is asking after someone who no longer lives here.