Whitewashed walls and an odd, protruding pipe
A scratching pencil and occasional sip
Through the pushed-to door is where the real world lives.
But I know where I am here.
Familiar, though not my own.
A sign on the door reads 'Katie's Nest'
Well, not quite
But a pair of pillows
And the humbuzzing silence
And the knowledge of nearby friends
Will do nicely instead.