A bedroom in a stairwell

When entering the main stairwell,

which leads to the final destination.

We ender a bedroom

(it wasn't always there)

furnished from a bedframe to a clothesline

made of electrical wires--

for towels and shirts.

Books and magazines sit on a small table.

A shower curtain hangs over what used to be a bathroom,

and is now a health hazard.

Lone CD makes one aware of

the lack of a way to play it.

But there is a window,

with a river view.

And the art on the walls came free.

We are as careful as we were scuttling along the concrete balance beam.

As to,

look.

Don't touch.

This invasion of someone's privacy

is not our goal, though

hauntingly, world shiftingly

fascinating.

 

Done