flannelet

He's hung his pants on the rungs of an old ladder that rests at an angle on the wall. There is an old crate - the wooden kind that acts as bench for a vinyl record player
The records themselves are wedged between the make shift bench & wall. He has chosen to keep all his possessions in old vintage suit cases. His clothes & sheets in a large brown one with copper-ish clips. Other personal items sit above this one in a blue case. A third small one sits open, as decoration. Its filled with plastic flowers. They bloom with sunshine, so as long as the lid remains open.

I lie down in a pair of flannelet pj's, my chest is bare. I lay on his bed. I look across his 'room'. His room is made of old bits of wood, and other affects. The room comes complete with a window sitting opposite the bed & just behind a curtain that takes up the whole wall. If the curtain were drawn, i could look out through the window into a warehouse that is the home of this bizarre 'room'. A warehouse fantasy land of nostalgia & daydreams.

He goes to the record player & puts on a record. I smile at him. He smiles back.