Overlooking a stitched plaid couch designed for two, a damaged clock ticks anxiously. On the small couch, an old laptop rests, illuminating the neglected appliance. Yet, even a broken clock is right twice a day, and here the clock is accurate for a brief minute at 4:39am, under the unintentional spotlight provided by a MacBook’s retina display. Exhausted, but unable to sleep, she sits on the couch under an old beach towel – a sorry excuse for a blanket. Due to the recent washing machine malfunction, the house is damp and assaulted by constant off-beat dripping. Her two large suitcases rest on the stained hardwood floor beside her – one of which, untouched for weeks, is covered by a light layer of dust. The other is unzipped, providing a glimpse of the assorted crumpled shirts, pants, underwear and odours which dwell within. In five hours, she has class at university.
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