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The sink, stores a chill, a crisp cold in its ceramic. To touch it, it’s soaked in cold. Dry cold. The rooms bigger than before. I don’t want to touch anything. Everything has sucked the warmth from the room. Even the floor consumes the heat from your feet. The draught reigns here. The outside atmosphere allowed to influence everything in this room. Blackness looks in through the window, pressed close to the glass. White clinic. I’m a brave.