Chapter Eight
I walk up to the townhouse that is my destination and press the garage door opener that doubles as the key to my humble abode.
The door creaks as it goes up, the movement slowed by the blankets that are duct-taped on the inside for insulation.
So, yeah. I rent this garage-turned-room from a nice elderly couple. Not the most glamorous accommodation, I admit. But hey, it’s a two-car garage, so it’s more spacious than most studios, and the gasoline fumes aired out ages ago. I also have an actual window—though it’s small and faces a neighbor’s driveway.
First things first. I fire up my industrial-level air purifier so I can take out my nose filters. The purifier was a costly investment, but without it, I would smell the onions that my landlady cooks for dinner and a million o
