I lived once in a tiny flat at the top of a hill. It had a big window in the living room, with a sill big enough to sit on if you wanted. I put pictures on it. Pictures of my family and a boomerang that my friends had signed when I left Australia.
The window in the bathroom didn’t open and the fan didn’t work so in the winter the damp lingered; getting into my lungs and turning all my beautiful dresses grey with mould.
My electricity went off one night and when I called the landlord he told me about the box by the front door and the plastic token I had to take to the shop to put money on.
I had five pounds and that wasn’t enough for food and electric so I ate plain rice I had in the cupboard.
I spent a lot of time looking at the boomerang and thinking about the people who had left their mark on it.