Sir.

Condensation formed winding rivers and streams across the inside of the cheap single Payne windows. The Marvell of their existance being the expense of glass had been afforded. Accompaning the economy of the windows rose the bare blocks of the walls, brutal in their funstionality. Damp clothes stood impartialitaly in the corner whilst the bed and the desk faced off against each other across the breif stretch of empty no-mans’ land. The room was hostile territory, designed to be engaged by a personality, in swift combat – supposedley overrun by the inhabitants quick assualt of personalisation and humanised by the trifling addition of simple keepsakes, posters and bric-a-brac. A calendar and a poster, mockingly rose as testament to the half hearted and failed assualt of the occupant against the void. Music played from the next room, a faint rythm fell through the room, effectively the shadow of the next rooms dweller spreading to try to fill the characterless space.I switched up the heater. The rivers flowed onwards, compelled, I watched their teardrops swell and run down the window, the trails on foggy glass intertwining. None were alone, all formed and reformed, a indescipherable and indiscriminate intamcy between them all. Standing alone I considered the flat- my home and conceded the defeat