Freewrite

After waking up from my afternoon nap, my red bulging eyes and prickly sensation sent me scrabbling from my bathroom to under the covers on my couch again. Peaking out eyeing the room, my sight landed on the repulsive windows smeared with white and black lumpy pigeon droppings and an AC unit peeling with chunks of white paint chips with rust on the underside. Past the unworldly gruesome site, there’s the green forest of trees in Central Park that I’ve never walked in once. I start to realize living years in the crammed hellhole; I should enjoy the outside more. My studio made me feel like I was living in a naked mole rat hole, not see what was around me only burrowing under my covers on my sofa bed.
Sticking my foot out of the sheet, feeling for my slippers, in the process stubbed by a lose nail sticking out from the floorboard. Finally pushed myself out of the sofa with a grunt, I’m out the door with 4 locks and chains. While on the 42-year-old creaking elevator, I yearned for the waft of fresh air that would slam against me as I opened the lobby door.