my berkeley apartment

my apartment complex was probably a motel sometime in its past. you know the type of place where all the doors lead onto a walkway the overlooks a parking lot. except my apartment--lucky #7--is in the bowel s. there is a concrete stairway, almost a secret stairway, except that it is not hidden, that leads you to my door. often, the local cat can be found sitting at my door because i give him treats. his name is tom and he is orange. he has an extra "toe" on his front right paw. he lives downstairs with maggie.
when you open my door--2 locks, but i usually just lock one--you see my good friend, the recliner. behind the recliner is a table with my printer, a lamp and an assortment of various other crapp. next to the crapp table is another good friend--the couch. in front of the couch is clutter central, the coffee table. my laptop sits there along with cups, magazines, scribbled notes and five remote controls--tv, dvd player, stereo, cd jukebox and XM radio. from wall to wall:couch, coffee table, then on the facing wall, an entertainment center, which holds the objects of all the remotes. oh, forgot something--behind the couch is a big window, which is the source of sunlight and moonlight. its not a great view. it faces the house next door. sometimes, bagpipe music drifts over from there. someone once told me that whoopi goldberg's mother lives there.