I moved into a new shared flat, the guy was really rough in his manner when he showed me around the house. It all felt contaminated, like separate rooms in an old factory. A makeshift home, not something I would ordinarily rent but the times called for different options. My room was a wedge between a boat on concrete and a glass wall with a control panel behind it. It didn’t feel secure at all. And it was cold and grey. Our shared kitchen was just a big space with some chairs and an old worn out sofa. I paid the guy 400€ for the rent and went to get my stuff. All the while I was thinking I didn’t want to live there but I had no where else to go. I came back, dumped my belongings into my room and slept. In the morning I washed myself best I could in what was called a bathroom (here image unclear or forgotten) and when I sat in the kitchen, ready to pass out from overwhelming doom, two of my landlord’s friends sat there on the sofa making small talk and summing me up. They eyed through the apartment my stuff which is ridiculously reduced, but still too much to carry if you were on the run. The landlord asked me if I would be sitting here all day and laying in my room or if I had things to do. It was a bossy unfriendly tone, like I wasn’t supposed to be here all day. I got paranoid about my safety, about the illegality of staying, or having such unstable surroundings and people. I thought of my friend Fred, that he wasn’t available to bail me out this time. His home had been squatted by prostitutes and pimps. He was also in uncertain housing. My thoughts went again to my belongings,why I continuously needed so much stuff.




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