Philip Simons writes in his bedroom, where he can escape the noise of life. He is stumbling clumsily through life. The story he is currently writing is partly inspired by unhealthy relationships that he has found himself in, though the story is fiction and only inspired by real life. It is not a memoir.
The house stood with an unremarkable, dull presence.1It was one more semi-detached house on a street of semidetached houses, 2and it was solidly reliable enough, 3serving its intended purpose as shelter. 4It protected the inhabitants from discomforts and dangers. 5The street upon which it stood 6was straight, like a great, dark-grey pencil line drawn by some god 7and lined with houses. 8And the house just stood, 9in the dark and still night of this quiet street. 10
James was watching television and drinking pint-sized cans of beer11from a four-pack he had bought earlier.
