The first time I felt something was off was right after I got home.

Guest stops at the entrance of the room. A one-room apartment, white walls, a low table, a bed. Nothing has changed; it's the familiar room. And yet, there was a strange snag at the edge of my vision. I turn my gaze. The small trash can next to the bed. A black plastic one, the kind you see anywhere.

I feel like it's usually pushed a bit closer to the wall. Now, it's slightly forward. Just a few centimeters. It was the kind of shift that could be explained away by accidentally kicking it.