A small room inside 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.

The hot plate is broken, so no morning coffee. No oatmeal either. Instead, jam on a slice of bread whose loaf, according to its manufacturer, expired the day before.

The bread looks okay, and I have to think hard to see if I am tasting mold.