A small apartment right on top of a liquor store that’s open 24/7 on a street with flashing neon lights and bars on every corner. A cheap cafè across the street. The constant humming of cars driving by and sirens going off at the most random of hours. A window leading to a fire escape. A black cat, my companion, sitting next to the window. Inside, the carpet is maroon and the walls are red. Multiple layers of shear orange and pink curtains hanging at every window. Black sheets cover the mattress. The covers are dark purple. A Dalmatian dog taking up half the space on the bed; my other companion. A small tv sitting on a dresser across my bed. The bedside table has candles, cigarette packs, a long 20’s styled cigarette holder, an ashtray and candles. Candles everywhere. No alarm clock. Fluffy handcuffs close by. In a corner, a small desk with a computer and printer. Different fur coats hanging in the closet matches up with skimpy dresses and quite a few leather jackets. A leopard print couch with throw pillows matching the purple bed covers and a throw blanket that matches the orange and pink curtains. Dark stained wooden furniture covered in stickers I’ve accumulated. A vanity made of the same wood with a drawer filled with my make-up collection. My usual look: blue eyeshadow, heavy black eye-liner, bright pink blush, a little bit of bronzer, porcelain pale cover up and of course, red lipstick. Most of the time, I’ll have long, acrylic nails; obnoxious as can be. My hair, long and black. A mannequin dressed up in lingerie. The bathroom and kitchen have black and white checkered tiles. The walls in both those rooms are a cream colored white but have spray paint graffiti all over them. The shower curtain and the fluffy toilet seat cover in the bathroom are blue. Brushes, straighteners, curlers, products, soaps and perfumes surround the sink. The kitchen is small, but I don’t cook anyway. There’s a fruit bowl next to some bottles of wine and a fridge filled with more beer than food covered in magnets I’ve accumulated from my travels. The plates, cups and mugs are all different, but I like it that way. The kitchen cabinets are a little see through. They have a frame and a handle but for the most part are stained glass. Various types of alcohol fill them. The walls throughout the place have guitars (electric and acoustic) hanging all over. There are paintings and framed posters everywhere. There’s a radio next to the window and a record player in the living room next to a shelf mixed with books I may or may not read and my vinyl records. Lava lamps of different colors in each room. There are no doors in the doorways that separate the small rooms. I hang colorful beads to hang from the door frame to the floor. I have mismatched lamps with vintage and cultural lampshades of all sorts. I have a black chair in the shape of a high heel, just because I like it. The wall next to this chair has a collage of Polaroid photos of me with my friends and family. Last, but not least, I have a plastic bin to keep all of my dirty needles and a drawer filled with foil, rooters, pipes, lighters, torches, all sorts of useful paraphernalia, and a safe filled with heroin, fentanyl and cocaine. This is where I see myself within the next five years. This type of lifestyle has appealed to me since I was a little girl. The darkness. The underbelly of a city. The neon signs in the night and the sounds of the city that others fear creeping in from my windows. I think this started to appeal to me young because my parents would take me to walk at Belmont Shores in Long Beach, California in the evenings. We’d get dinner and go window shopping there at least twice a month. I don’t think I’d feel more at home than I would in this environment I explained. Kind of that 70’s haunting prostitute vibe. Small, slightly crowded, but homey. I know this lifestyle sounds like the type a lot of people will do almost anything to get out of. But I find it comforting and enchanting.
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