It was a unique kind of horrid

living in that basement with the abusive rapist yelling at her and masturbating on the other side of the door at the end of the unlit hallway, splitting to the only options in that 300 square foot apartment: bathroom, bedroom, or kitchen, the kitchen two tin foil burners in a 10' X 11' room with a disgusting, street-recovered fold-out loveseat,the bookshelf my father made filled with books, and a set of shelves with utensils, pots and pans, two bowls, two plates, a few mugs; the bedroom the only slightly redeemable space in that whole place, at least there was enough room for the queen-size bed and a couple of side tables, a closet just big enough to hold all else that we owned


still, somehow, I was happy, because after nearly 15 years I had finally returned to live in the mountains where I belong. all I had to do was step outside and I'd be home