There was one armchair in the room, strapped with extra cushions and erect with what looked like a removable arm to get from the chair to a wheelchair--that sat behind the door. The former was sitting near the window where the workers had replaced it before they left, knowing it was the only seat besides the bed in the whole place. The table had been pushed into the kitchen temporarily, and there were a couple chairs there, but they were the folding kind, and clearly not ones he could sit in for any length of time. Not if he wanted to get up again.
Billy got out of the way the best he was able, and watched the artist move canvases in from the door to the side of the living room. "Me too," he agreed, about the wood, smiling. The cane was made of the same dark stained wood, and it was almost black where it curved to properly fit the hand and support the arm. "I'm going to have to get one now that you've gone to all this trouble," he commented, grinning still and moving closer to the paintings' final destination. He decided to stay on his feet as long as he was able, and movement was very much as far as he could go with the good leg and then a heavy limp and a lot of pain later, he got a step ahead. Every day was the goddamn Olympics, and he got a gold.
"Had to go with the ground floor, so I told 'em I would rip the place up and put it back together. Whoever replied didn't seem to care much." Billy spoke as he looked down, musing about the unknown owner of the building for a whole second before dismissing it and moving on.