Nick’s place was just a single windowless room in the basement of Portuguese family’s home. He brought Jen in through a torn screen door hanging off of its last screw around the back. They headed through a laundry room lit by a dying fifteen-watt bulb. Jen choked on the dryer’s exhaust; the duct-tape patched pipe was gouged and torn, and the white powder of the exhaust lingered visibly in the air. Nick fumbled roughly with the wrong key for a minute, lobbing motivational curse words at the lock without success, before he stumbled on the right one by chance.
Nick slid his hand around the door, flicked the switched, and presented his home.