The room was brightly lit, an effect created by the combination of the left hand side lamp— still on —and the sun beaming through the right hand side window, ruffled curtains thrown wide. On the left: large black socks strewn across the floor in the aisle beside the bed; on the nightstand, an open half-empty can of soda and a phone charger hanging limp, disconnected from the wall outlet converter; dresser drawers only partially closed; atop the dresser, a pile of crumpled receipts, gum wrappers, screwdrivers, and electrical tape. On the right: slippers stored underneath the nightstand, aligned symmetrically between the two legs; on top, a copy of Eat, Pray, Love with a laminated bookmark wedged midway between the pages, a pair of cat-eye glasses, a bottle of water with the cap screwed tightly shut, and a pill container with the days of the week labeled; jewelry hidden away in a polished antique chest. The bed covers were wrinkled and worn on one side and a separate blanket was folded neatly with a plumped pillow on the other. A solitary post-it was stuck to the headboard’s left hand side reading, “Do NOT clean. I’ll do it when I get home.”


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