The formally crisp, white walls are stained yellow from the years of nicotine permeating them. Large spiderwebs have collected in the corners of the room with some remnants of their former residents still attached. In the corner, an old gas heater covered in rust clings to life. The dingy brown carpet leaves a wafting odor throughout, and bares stains of unknown origin. There is running water, but the amenities seem to end there.
She puts her key in the door, opens it up and takes a deep breath. No more cardboard boxes and no more “homeless” signs. This is paradise.