A stiff gust of wind follows you as you unlock the horizontal double locks on your front door. The grease and dirt of human hands have discolored the paint around the pair of locks and doorknobs on either side of the door. You add to this history as you enter, closing the door and locking it behind you. To your right is a third hand coat rack and a small, narrow, and shallow hand-me-down coffee table with a bowl for keys and personal items. You hang your coat and bag on the rack, and place your personal items in the bowl on the table, and slide your shoes off by the door.
You take a moment to quiet your breathing and feel the pulse of the old rental that has been stripped of her personality and covered with a pallid grey paint. The light of the fairylights you and your roommates hung dance off the lifeless hue of the wall. You listen to the creak of her bones, her central heating soft hum beckoning you deeper into her lungs, her heart, her stomach. Where will you rest your head while the spectors of past tenants flit around the corner of your eye?