The Apartment Had Old Wood And Electronics, And It Smelled Like A Wasteland.

On the door of the refrigerator, a take-away coupon hung under a webcomic-magnet, next to a photograph of foam shoes and an unmailed postcard of Shanghai.

Along the bottom trim of the walls, brick-outline wallpaper ended against stacks of science journals, empty children's cereal boxes, and a hard carpet with speckles of paint and pasta stains.

This couldn't be where it happened.

There was only one working light, in the bedroom, which went on as soon as we moved.