When Jack thinks of her room as more an Attic, it looks like this.

This week, she's feeling messy and stuck together with odds and ends. Transient and bare. She had this to say about it:

Looks very much to be outside, but has the comfortable safety of inside. Wallpaper of a forest line the walls. A large window which I would always keep open, covered by a too long curtain, which flaps around with the wind. Empty tea cups, and cans of coke (not diet) line any furniture. A few of the cans are stuffed with butts. Stacks of dead mattresses layer like a cake to a height just tall enough to be unreasonable. In my heart, sometimes the stack would slide over for whatever reason and I would go sliding across the room thumping into a wall, all the while laughing hysterically. Piles of blueprints, paper and pencils litter a desk that is actually a drafting table. A dirty tea pot holds pencils, pens and paint brushes. A large wardrobe stands in the corner that holds dresses, slips, bras and panties, and one night gown. It is golden rod, trimmed with white lace. The room smells like cigarettes, overly scented floral and citrus deodorant and pink rubber erasers. Various unmatching lamps scattered around the room. Several blank unpainted canvas hang on the walls around the room.

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