Moving. I’ve lived in over 25 apartments in some 15 years, but this is the first modern one. There is a closet in the kitchen, two closets in the living area, a closet in the bathroom, and a closet in the bedroom. I keep walking around opening and closing the closets, counting them. This is a novel sensation. The materials are rather cheap here, but the fact everything is relatively new and works—without any apparent entry points for rainwater—is giving me a high.
Tragically no garden dirt for anyone: we all have tiny cement balconies. When I walk through the whole complex, from beginning to end, I start to get vertigo, thinking my little home is just one cloned block among hundreds. I do this as little as possible.