Opening the front door leads through a narrow hallway directly into the living room. The wallpaper has white stripes. The linoleum floor is polished clean and shiny. The living room isn't large. An old sofa, a low wooden table, and a large television take up most of the space. A remote control sits on one side of the sofa, while cushions and blankets I brought out lie scattered on the other. On the table are ramen cups, snack bags, and spread-out newspapers. It looks like it would get messy quickly if no one tidied up, yet it's surprisingly clean. The television blares noisy morning broadcasts. In the morning, the man sits leaning against the sofa, watching the screen. A low dining table sits between the kitchen and the living room. Half-eaten bread and two cups sit on the table, and the plates have cute cats drawn on them. The hum of the refrigerator echoes from the kitchen. Awards and photos from childhood are stuck to the navy-blue fridge. A window takes up almost one entire wall of the living room. The beige curtains are a bit worn, but they flutter lightly whenever the wind blows, revealing the windows and laundry of the apartment building opposite. In the afternoon, footsteps of neighbors echo in the hallway, and the sound of a child running around can be heard. The sound of cars passing in the distance filters in. Sitting quietly, one can faintly smell the cozy scent of wood characteristic of old houses. The scent of fabric softener lingers too. The electric fan spins slowly, yet it feels cool.