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 party next door began as a pair of high heels gently kicking their way up the stairs. A soft knock, muffled laughter, and the door shutting harder than the knock.

Hours later, it is the ocean roar of a crowd I hear. Someone brought an accordion, and every now and then attempts "Auld Lang Syne", getting a bar or two further than the previous attempt before collapsing on the wrong note.

We two have run about the slopes,
and picked the daisies fine;
but we've wandered many a weary foot,
since days of long ago.