Daniel Ryland, upright, staunch, fastidious, observes with satisfaction his meticulously tidy apartment. Before he tidied away his solitary glass, single cup and one book he'd experienced an uneasy self-loathing creep under his clothes and rub up against him. But he disowned it, tidied everything away, dusted, hoovered, and for good measure wiped the windows over. Now his place is perfect. He smiles as he stands sentry over his own apartment: this is how it should be.
Nothing unnecessary here. No ornaments. No pictures. Flat surfaces throughout. Clean lines. Function beating fuss. Nothing out of place, nothing. Perfect. Meticulously perfect.