Introduced ourselves to the old man who smokes pipe downstairs. He’s lived—and—hoarded in his apartment since 1979. With a pipe. And a cat.
I don’t think he’s left that apartment in years. Through the smoke and dust, there was an amazing outline of our apartment’s former self.
“I just picked it back up a month ago,” he confessed. He put the pipe down on his bookshelf, guiltily. “Another good reason to quit.”