Once the third room is reached – and this is not so much a generalized take on it as my own – some anticipation has built for it, which is not so much met or disappointed as avoided almost entirely. I felt, myself, like a child upon entering the room and realizing my immediate impression of it, how far off it was from what I had applied intelligence to to predict or forsee. The bureaus seemed unnecessary, for one. Three of them pushed up next to each other, no one would do that. And the objects upon them indicative of a mature and confident individual living there, one who prepares thoroughly for life, to overcome all mundane possibilities in advance through this preparation, one who has been up for hours already before anyone else rises, unhurriedly rendering all reasonable contingencies impotent even before they could occur, so those contingencies would slink away like street cats. You see the strain it put on me, that I would say something facile like “like street cats.” But that’s an absolutely true conveyance of this room. You sit down and knock your heels lightly against the front of the seat and wait and maybe hum. Inaudible, to feel it vibrate in your chest. And that brass lamp.