We still don't have a room to ourselves, but we do have windows. We can look out of them into 1 world. Or 1 world can look into us. In some of them, we stay alone with our screenshots.
In the evening, we stroll through our windows, usually after 1 walk we have twice as many open and none closed, sometimes we even swap them. We light up one cigarette after the next. The world should give us fire, or even better: other writers should write us a fire, in return for which we remove 1 strand of hair from our high bun, which they can brush out of our face, but only with a pencil.