Wolfgang half-smiles and heads for the back door. When they open it and step through, the light comes on by itself.
The place used to be a bakery, and that's clear from the back room — the walls are lined with shiny chrome cabinets and counterspace, and there's a deep sink with a detachable nozzle in one corner. Most of the heavy-duty kitchen equipment — namely, an industrial oven and refrigerator — has been removed. It's not too small a space, but there's a steel counter running down the middle of it, making it look smaller. There's one stool. It's all very clean.
On the counters lay various daily living-things: groceries, all shelf-stable; clothes, folded neatly; lots of books, most of them clearly secondhand; a few boxes, small and big. There's a hot plate, a few various pans, and an electric kettle. No real oven or stove. Wolfgang makes do.
There's an air mattress covered in blankets and pillows like a nest on the floor, which looks uncomfortable, but in one corner is an army surplus cot, which looks even more uncomfortable. It's now being used as a shelf for clothes, though.
Wolfgang shivers and stamps their feet as they make their way across the room to the space heater in one corner. It's still chilly while that heats up, but they take their coat and gloves off anyway, perusing the clothes folded on the counter for a sweater, which they put on over their other sweater. ... Wolfgang.
“Don't tell anyone,” they say over their shoulder. “I'm not sure this is actually legal.”