Welcome to this dusty room, where the ceiling drips onto your head and the floor nips at your feet and angry insects buzz around your tired head with constant fervour.
From this window, you can't see stars, only this long whirling mass of pollutants twisting into the firmament.
SEE? Did you see?
Did you see that pigeon fall down - thwack! - from that grey chemical mess?
By streetlight you can just manage a glimpse of tired, crouching figures defecating by the sea, where the waves make no sound. No tinkling of water.
You might see a moth crash into the glass window and break his little wing in two. Poor little moth will lie on the windowsill for a few days, then disintegrate in the mouths of angry little ants.
All his little moth friends are gnawing away the the damp little rug by the door. They fly stupidly into the sole lightbulb, fizzling and sizzling their way down to the floor, and lie there for you to step on.
Lean your head on that wall, dear.
Chip off the paint and eat it.
The little shadows you're making on it are probably the only fun you'll have in a long, long time.
Watch the rabbit!
Watch the deer!