My mom and I lived here for a couple of years and filled this place with memories. It's where I started smoking.
I used to buy my clothes at thrift stores. You can find all kinds of weird stuff there. One day I discovered an old manual typewriter with a working ribbon. It had a ton of character so I bought it for like 2 bucks and took it home.
My friend Paul would come over after school and we started taking turns typing stuff on it. I remember some really bad poems, a story about holding your breath underwater to open up doorways to other dimensions, and some wannabe Vonnegut nonsense.
Whenever one of us would finish typing out a poem or story, we'd "commemorate" it with a cigarette. After a week we started to lose interest in writing. There were less stories and more cigarettes until finally we were both addicted to nicotine and the typewriter became an obstacle on the floor. It took me 13 years to finally quit. I hope Paul did.