I slept dreamlessly for years. But now that's changed. Now I'm having vivid dreams every night. So, I got a small notebook to keep by the bed and now I record them every morning. Here's one:

I was drawn to the apartment like an onlooker to a crash. Its rooms spoke to me of pain, cruelty, decay, death. I knew we had to move in as soon as possible.

It was an attic space, an add-on, an addition, an extra, an afterthought, not conforming to the complex's usual floor plans, irregular ceiling heights, warped floors with narrow hardwood slats, an assortment of unevenly shaped rooms.

One large room, with a hidden passage off to one side I immediately designated as a playroom for the children. A small one with a toilet closet at the back I claimed as my master bedroom. The rooms were full of the leftover belongings of previous tenants: furniture, clothing, toys, books, electronics, and I felt as if we were breaking and entering while they were away rather than touring a vacant space we planned to soon occupy. It would be quite a job to move all of that shit out of there.

The space had also once housed a seafood restaurant. The entrance was through the kitchen after innumerable flights of stairs. Two corridors divided the space into three main sections. There were rooms enough to sublet to multiple boarders if I wanted. 

The neighbors were a youngish couple with children - playmates for mine - living in a space on the other side of the kitchen and stairwell, separated only by a curtain. The place was rife with old feelings, every room storied. We moved in right away.