Kitchen

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The kitchen, possibly more than any room in the house, is pure chaos. There are towering mismatched stacks of dishes, both clean and dirty, as well as rolling pins, potatoes ricers, pots and pans of every sort stacked on every surface. It's as if every person who ever lived here left something behind. Not all the things are recognizable, and not all of them are usable, either (your George Foreman Grill does you little good if you can't plug it in). Somewhere in the mess, there's an icebox, that remains cold though no ice is in it. Every time the door is opened, the contents of the fridge are different. Weather or not one gets something eatable is entirely a crap shoot, and can depend on how long one cares to open and close the door over and over again. Somewhere along the wall is a sink, as well.

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