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When does a place really become your own? Is it when you put 3 pairs of socks to soak in a plastic bowl? Is it when you re-heat last night's spaghetti on the gas ring? Is it when you pin up an old postcard or old photo over the sink? Or is it when you feel pangs of expectation or the rush of passion or the desire never to go out?
Room is a story about rooms. Yes, rooms in general. And the way we live in them. More specifically it's about a room we lived in for a while, quite a long time ago. Anyway, it is also an evening of remembering that story and trying to make more precise that particular feeling you have about a place.
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