She sat, as she always did. She looked down, as she always did. She lived, inconveniently, on the third floor of a dilapidated condominium built in the 70s. She spent most of her day on the balcony. This was for two reasons. First, it was to work on maintaining the tan that had turned her withered flesh into something roughly the texture of an orange. Second, it was to get away from her roommate. Malcolm was not a silent house guest. He was a constant whiner and had the voice of a dial tone. If he had eyes, he would have worn very thick glasses.
"Tildy, the fan is broken again." Malcolm's voice reached out to her like tentacles. Never alone, she thought. This is my curse.
"He has no arms. I have no legs." Matilda muttered to herself, not for the first time.Since being hurled from her own dimension into this purgatory, she had bemoaned her companion many times. But never to him. He had deadly aim with his venomous spit and the foam he secreted when upset was ruining her shag carpeting. She sighed and wheeled herself back inside.