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.
This morning I picked a bowl of tomatoes from the vines outside. I chopped them up and added purple onion, cilantro, some white navy beans I left soaking over night, olive oil, lemon juice and sea salt. In an hour I will be ready to eat them.
In the meantime, I will read a little more of Lane Dunlop's 1969 translation of Francis Ponge's Soap (1967).