always.
When you enter the front door, you're in the foyer. It, like most of the house, is sparkling white and ergonomically decorated. There's a pale bluish rug on top of the white carpeting, and a warped gray glass table pressed to the wall to your left. It carries a vase of white flowers, a bowl for keys, and a small chrome lamp to augment the light falling in from the skylight. As you would expect in the home of a writer, an English teacher, books on white plastic shelves line most of the walls. Each of them looks worn and well read.
Three doors lead away from the entryway, all open and inviting. Through the one to your left is a living room. You go through it. This room has large white trimmed windows with perpetually open venetian blinds, a mint colored linen couch, and a television. Books have found their way into here as well, in bookshelves on either side of the TV, but also scattered across the coffee table, stacked by the arm of the sofa, resting on the cushions and hiding the remote. A white mug, half-full of day old coffee sits on a napkin on an endtable where he left it. There are framed watercolors of hills and bonds and trees on the walls, signed by a friend of the writer's. They seem simple on first glance, but if you took the time to really examine them, you could fall right in.
There's another door in this room, at a right angle from the way you entered, as this is a corner of the house. When you go through it, you're in another corner room.
Three doors lead away from the entryway, all open and inviting. Through the one to your left is a living room. You go through it. This room has large white trimmed windows with perpetually open venetian blinds, a mint colored linen couch, and a television. Books have found their way into here as well, in bookshelves on either side of the TV, but also scattered across the coffee table, stacked by the arm of the sofa, resting on the cushions and hiding the remote. A white mug, half-full of day old coffee sits on a napkin on an endtable where he left it. There are framed watercolors of hills and bonds and trees on the walls, signed by a friend of the writer's. They seem simple on first glance, but if you took the time to really examine them, you could fall right in.
There's another door in this room, at a right angle from the way you entered, as this is a corner of the house. When you go through it, you're in another corner room.