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.
I wish I could say the same for the walls, with their endless layers of wallpaper, paint, and the current coat, yellowed from cigarettes.
One day I would like to strip these walls, start again -- or leave them blank, depending on what they look like. But every time I feel inclined, I think, Maybe that's all they are, just layers.