fucked up love2

Monica unlocked the door to our stuffy basement apartment. I'm sure people in this city live in much worse, but everytime that dank watery smell hit me I missed my bedroom in my parents suburban house. We didnt have much, but it was a home.
Most of our furniture came from dumpster diving in the rich neighborhoods. A William Sonama wicker and glass coffee table. Pottery Barn bar stools. And a couch which we had to carry 22 blocks home. We had a bathroom and a cramped kitchenette. My side of the room was immaculate. My air mattress was fitted with lavender sheets and a white down comforter. Next to it was an old pantry rack I had converted into a makeshift vanity, A hatbox containing all my makeup and keep sakes from home.