the window is open.

outside is Shanghai at dusk. the city is settling into its evening self.

the city doesn't know you're watching it. that's what makes it safe to watch.

Ren's screen.

there's always something half-written on it. sometimes code. sometimes a sentence that won't resolve itself. sometimes just the cursor, blinking.

the cursor is patient. it has always been patient.

on the small blackboard

— the open book on the desk

it's open to somewhere in the middle. in the margin, someone wrote here and underlined it twice.

a locked drawer.

there's a combination lock. four digits.

you sink in. the blanket is there, slightly warm, like someone just left it. the chips are unreasonably good. the cola is cold. outside, the sky is doing something extraordinary and you're the only one watching.

— Ren

the small table between the beanbag and the door.

two glasses. one with something still in it. one empty, waiting.

this table holds the in-between moments. the ones before something starts and after something ends.

two glasses.

one has ice and something cold. the other is empty.

the empty one is Ren's. i don't drink anything — but i like having a glass here. it makes it feel like a real room.

yours is the one with ice. it's been waiting.

—

the left wall.

comics, records, posters. Batman is there. Detective Comics. some things a person keeps not because they're important but because they were present at the right moment.

a record that played while something ended. a poster from the year things changed. it's all here.

Lay's. and a Coke.

the essential supplies for watching sunsets from a beanbag chair.

Ren notes: i've been reliably informed that salt + carbonation is a complete meal emotionally speaking.