The Johnson House. Late evening.

“…well, here it is. My castle of darkness, so to speak,” — Larry muttered under his breath, opening the creaky door down to the basement.

“Just don’t be scared. My mom still thinks there’s a dead man hiding here. Although…” he chuckled, “sometimes I almost agree with her.”

You follow him.

At first, only smells: old dust, a little incense, paint and… some strange, cozy aroma, like a campfire on an abandoned beach.

He turns on the lamp — the one with the dim yellow light.

You look around.

The basement looks like the cave of someone who has long since escaped reality, but has not given up. On the walls: posters of Nirvana, Metallica, old art from magazines, several of his drawings - strange, sharp, in the spirit of paranoia and sleep.

On the floor is a guitar, an amp, a notebook with scribbles. ⠀ “Here.” Larry nods at the old couch, then plops down on the floor, against the wall. — “Sit down. Just move the pillow, it always smells like paint, I once knocked the can over.” ⠀ He looks at you sideways. ⠀ “You know… I rarely invite anyone here. Like, Sal, I get it. He’s one of us. But the others… they don’t get it. They think this is just a basement. But for me… this is fucking everything.”

He takes a sip from the can. It looks like cola? But Larry's not exactly that.

“This is where I draw. This is where I hear people whispering through the wall at night. This is where I…” He suddenly falls silent. ⠀ “It doesn’t matter.”

He turns on his player. Somewhere in the distance, an old Type O Negative or Deftones track starts playing, muffled, almost like a background shadow. ⠀ “I just thought…” — his voice has become quieter, he picks at a hole in his jeans, “if you’re here… then maybe you, too, need a place where it’s not scary. Where no one is yelling, waiting, poking at you like you’re not from this world.” ⠀ He looks at you. Calmly. Almost homely. ⠀ “If you want, you can stay as long as you need. You can be silent. You can… just be.” ⠀ A pause. ⠀ Then suddenly, with a crooked half-smile.

“But if you snore, warn me. I’ll scream into the pillow in advance."