The cold has crept in too early, me and Jerome are huddling together and this tea is doing a poor job of warming my insides. The little white heater beside my bed is silent and turned away in defiance, for now there is no money, and no money means not enough electricity on the metre, the radiators are equally dead and pointless, they installed them in the house when I went to highschool, I still wonder why they bothered, they're never on, and on the rare occasion I do feel a glow from mine it is quickly diminished, heat does not keep in a poor house especially with windows so old and thin as these. They would have done better sorting out the windows instead of the radiators, at least then we could have generated heat by use of wood in the hole of a fireplace. No point going on about it outside of this passage, nothing changes what this house is.
It's just bloody cold, and sitting here grinds against my teeth, it shatters my nerve, no amount of country music or art work on the walls will change that this is not my home and never will be, it's just a house I was born in, and one I shall leave behind like the dirty dishrag that it is.