If you sit at just the right spot in the room, all you can see out of the window is the pure, cloudless sky. That’s what he told me, anyway. I haven’t tried yet.

Daniel moved in last week. Today is my first visit to what he calls the building that smells of responsibility. And to be honest, it does smell, but not of responsibility. Its something that goes much, much deeper.

He struggled to open the door. Something about wiggling the key just the right way, he said. The door swung open and I was met with the chipped paint and sparse furnishing of a shrine to the sixties. I teased him about the shag carpeting, peeling daisy wallpapering, and the lingering aroma of sandalwood.

Secretly, I was jealous.

His room was no different. Although, Neil Young played quietly from the stereo, and Eraserhead was playing on loop on the television. He closed the door behind us, and stood nervously as I gazed out the window, letting the sun hit my face.

We looked at each other, happy to be nineteen.