My Place

The room looks as if a Tetris player set it up. The furniture is placed this way and that, it is a puzzle with the pieces in the wrong spot. However, everything serves its purpose. You can see the TV from both beds and both desks. Each wardrobe garners its own privacy from the other, at least as much as can be done within a 15’x15’ box. The trash is thoroughly cut off from everything else in the room and the mini-fridge is accessible by both inhabitants without infiltrating any personal space. It looks like Van Goh, but it functions perfectly.

Passersby often hear cries of death; the virtual kind of course. As any college dorm room housing young men, video games are oft the time wasters. You can hear the explosions of a laser cannon decimating an alien battalion. You can hear the clink of blades during a battle of heroes. You can year the blast of a shotgun round on the battleground of a new world war. You can hear the cheers of fans from soccer to basketball. The thud of football players colliding to the crack of a bat sending a baseball over 400 feet can be heard. Remember, everything you hear isn’t real.

The smell of the place is accosting. It is very much real, and perhaps the lack of realism that goes on is the culprit. Trash seems to build up in the designated corner right next to the door. As soon as you cross the threshold you get a whiff of just about everything you can think of. There’s stale popcorn, moldy pizza, empty beer bottles, sour milk, and the generally skunkyness of trash that would transport you to a dump. Once you bypass all that, you get the distinct smell of dirty laundry. There is no reprieve from this. Once upon a time air fresheners would be deployed, but the endeavors came back unsuccessful. Your taste buds will burn off before you can taste the air, no need to go there.

The place is homey though, not a place to be proud of, but a place to certainly be carefree. Like I said, the TV is in perfect position to be seen by all who want to lounge and need that present distraction from work at their desks. It is the disorganization that makes everything unsacred. Come on in, touch anything, grab something from the fridge, and take a seat on a bed. It is all fair game and it all just seems natural.