Morning sunlight sliced through the rusted window louvers of the cramped rental.
The harsh light illuminated a slow, lazy dance of dust motes hovering right above my face.
I opened my eyes and stared at a water stain on the ceiling that looked vaguely like a crushed spider.
There was no crystal chandelier hanging above me.
There was no central air conditioning humming a sterile lullaby of generational wealth.
There were no thousand-thread-count silk sheets wrapping my body in artificial security.
Just the peeling paint of a cheap ceiling and the muffled, off-key crowing of a neighbor's rooster that clearly did not know what time it was.
My spine popped a dull rhythm as I stretched my limbs across the thin foam mattress.
My lower back ached from the lack of proper spring support.
I
