How surreal, Arnold thought, his apartment was what he could only describe as surreal. As he came from his work, the empty setting soothed him.
All the walls white, windows large with no curtains. Empty rooms, ever so hollow. He entered his kitchen, Arnold had only an oven and an old refrigerator, a very large, quite worn refrigerator. He looked at the behemoth, as it stared him down. It was once white but had turned a light beige. It stood in the kitchen corner by a glass balcony door.
Arnold looked at his feet, he had no carpets either. He liked carpets, but he preferred without them, they gave the house too much character he thought, even the simplest ones. Maybe white carpets? His house was always cold.
The sunlight filled his apartment, reflecting on the walls, coming through the many large windows, reaching every crevice, every angle, every single spot one thought he could run to. What has it all come to? Is this really what Arnold wanted? He wished he could change.
But things did not work like that, no, life would be too easy.
Maybe all he has is off himself.
The thought persisted in his mind, stubborn. 'Where could I have changed?' Arnold thought, but it was ambiguous, he thought it was nonsense.
