>>406I remembered having once called it home, but I also didn’t. I just kind of accepted what he told me as fact, because I couldn't remember ever having lived anywhere else.
I decided to inspect the condition of my new home to determine exactly what needed to be done to make it livable again. The trailer was dimly lit by an old and unreliable halogen bulb hanging from the center of the ceiling, illuminating a small kitchenette with dirty countertops and a retro refrigerator. On the wall by the front door, next to the fridge, was a panel. It used a dial mechanism that could also be pressed as a button to use the desired setting. The only 2 points on the dial were crude symbols of a maid or a clown. I'd assumed it would work like a room service button in a hotel or hospital room, but no matter how many times I pressed it, no one came.
Inside the refrigerator, the light was broken, and I had to move out of the way to let the overhead light shine on its contents. It contained many omelets and egg sandwiches, giving off a slight sulfuric odor, and a single Dunkin' Donuts coffee, half-drunk and congealed, with the order label still attached.
The rest of the room was mostly empty, save for the bare metal frame of a futon sofa and a dense sheet of plywood that served as a divider between the main room and a more private section of the building. The light didn't quite penetrate the barrier, and I felt a sense of dread at what lay beyond the plywood, as if there was something I would regret seeing beyond the threshold.