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A room bathed in
purple and orange. There are two windows and a wall.

There is text along the top of the image. It reads I look at
apartments a lot. I'll have to move eventually, maybe out to
Lynnwood, somewhere along the rail line. I can't find a job
in Everett. Everything is healthcare or delivery, and I hate
driving.

There is more text inside of the windows. It reads I used to
look at places here, before I realized that. Conjure up
fantasies, imagine living downtown in a nicely lit apartment
that faced the port. They were all too expensive, of course.
Even if I had a full time job, over half of my pay would
be going to rent, and nobody's going to let me rent like that,
even with my savings.

There is text in the shadow cast over the wall. It reads There's
always somewhere else. Always somewhere I want to go. Anywhere
but here, I think. I grew up in the suburbs and wished it could
be the city instead. I wanted places to go. I wanted to take a
city bus, a train. Learning to drive didn't free me. I hate driving.

I wonder, when I get to where I want to go, when I have the studio
I daydream about, will I finally be happy? Or will I still want more?

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