The bulb flickered when I hit the switch but the light never came on. I closed the door and slid the lock anyway. The faucet was running, a stream of sun warmed water flowing through dirty underground pipes. I reached to turn the faucet off, thinking of conservation. My finger touched something soft and gooey where the knob ought to have been. I buttoned my shorts and added splashes of my piss to the tile floor. The music was loud. A canary lived in a straw cage above the dance floor. The music was not his song.