leas in thee winter you don hafta bath as much. youc'n sponge at the kitchn sink n stickyer head under the spigot. i thot of this place as camping in, as a kind of luxuriant homelessness, a warm box that rattles and breathes, an inside and warm. it could be a live center even, a heart with walls. i have that 900 dollar chair that swivels in the dusty light. i could get a vacuum in there. i thot this place is a generator of dust. i must be the curator of dust bunnies. i might be sucking them up. i don't hafta succumb. i understand my landlady, she hates the place, the studio of suicide, and she lets it to me dirt cheap. i'm the landlord of the dirt. i plastic the windows, i sponge bathe, and walla, i'm home free. it could be worse. it could be better. but it could be worse. it could be worse and suddenly better. i may not hafta stay here. all the time spent wandering may be saved.