At nightfall, the door opened once, to admit a large woman, with two enormous plastic sacks. The painter tried to squeeze in after her, but numerous hands and feet pushed him out. He got the impression that the cupboard contained at least five people, stacked on sacks and bags up to the ceiling.
The painter lay down outside his door, trembling with cold and misery. Inside, two people were snoring, another two were arguing, and a baby was crying—it must have just been born.
