Christmas lights are strung on the moulding. They are plain white and don’t flash. I have a fake plastic tree in the corner. But I have seven or eight real plants in other corners. One of these plants, on the window sill, is dead. But I haven’t gotten rid of it yet. I have a porcelain green monkey holding a turnip. I have a cluttered desk. I have to dust. I have some sort of strange instrument that can’t be played. I don’t think. I have overdue bills my heart can’t pay. I have a corner-shelf filled with colored glass. None of it is useful. I have a wood and wrought iron coffee table. And matching end stand. Both haven’t been taken from me yet. Though they should be. I have a box full of blankets. And a box full of magazines. Another full of photographs. I have a suitcase record player. A coffee cup stolen from an all-night restaurant. I have tropical temperatures on the coldest of days. I have the perfect lamp for a 25-watt bulb. A dripless candle that smells ok. And I could use more light. I have a taken down the drapes. Because I like to look outside. An acoustic guitar on a stand. I’ve got only 2 photographs on the walls. But I don’t want more. This room has a lifetime full of memories. A ratty sofa that nobody really enjoys. Often open windows. Sometimes there’s a phone call from far away. “So what did you do today?” There are always shoes on the floor to trip over. Pools of my life gather in nearly every available depression. I have games. But I don’t play them often. Maybe I’ll open a jigsaw. I have a warm embrace. My ceiling has few right angles. And a fan. Which makes it nice to stare at.