Room 6 hadn’t been touched in years — not properly, anyway. The door stuck, the carpet crunched, and the AC gave one last sigh before dying again. On the side table, lit by a slant of sun, sat a CRYSTAL perfume bottle, square, capped, still half-full. It smelled like something expensive and out of reach. $17. Smell it once and decide for yourself.
The mirror over the dresser was cracked — not shattered, just fractured enough to reflect the truth sideways. Beneath it sat a BLACK rotary phone, cord tangled like it had been in a fight and lost. Still has a dial tone, surprisingly. $10. Don’t ask who it still rings for.
A scrap of ROOFING material had been shoved in the window frame to block the wind — probably from the maintenance shed. It didn’t work. Dust still came in sideways. It’s still there if you want it. $4. Stained with rust and sun.
By the window was a chair someone once tried to paint WHITE, but gave up halfway. It's got charm, if you squint. Still holds weight. $8 — no promises.
In the drawer next to the Gideon Bible was a receipt for a gallon of TAR, dated 1997, and a handwritten note that read “For the soft spots under the stairs.” That part of the building collapsed years ago. The receipt’s free. The story costs extra.
Propped against the wall, perfectly upright, was a CHINA serving dish, no cracks, hand-painted roses. Wrong place for it, but that’s life. $12. Probably watched a lot of lonely meals.
Taped above the headboard was a single index card, yellowed and curling at the edges. Written in block letters: “STUDY YOUR ESCAPE.” Beneath it, an old exit map, bleached by time. The door it referenced no longer exists.
Out through the blinds, you could catch a slice of CLEAR sky if you tilted your head just right. The kind of sky that promises heat and silence, nothing else. No price on that — but you can stand there and borrow it, for as long as you need.