I'm in a hotel with C. New rooms are being built at the top, the walls are made of glass. We want to book a room. I see that our name “Meyer” appears at the top of a display. But C. has forgotten the R. I try to enter it again. A man walks through the dusty rooms, routinely pressing another flap with his foot. He's tired, it's Sunday. The floor is blue and reminds us of our former apartment. That's why we feel at home here. I wonder where our room will be and when they will clean it. S. runs up the stairs with her bike. I apologize that the elevator doesn't work. She is athletically fast.