«The last and most important thing: I never leave the house again. Fortunately it’s a very nice house and I’m very proud of it. I didn’t buy it; it was given to me. It’s about eight meters wide. It’s a lot for this block. It used to be very pretty, inside and out, and nicely decorated. When I was very young, though. Now I’m afraid I’ve let her become sleazy and dilapidated. Only a few traces of its ancient beauty remain: the piano (I played it as a boy); the bookcases around the fireplace; the furniture, which once could be defined as high-end, but that they are slowly sinking into the floor because for forty years they bear my weight. There are nice things upstairs, I think, but I haven’t seen them in a decade. There’s no reason for me to go up there. And if I tried I couldn’t». A text taken from "Heft", by Liz Moore.