Maybe it’s the worn black leather couch rescued from someone’s basement, or the Genesee Cream Ale wind chimes that hang proudly on the wall.
Could it be the black lacquer bar stools that serve no purpose? There is no bar, nor is there a table. (There is no room for a table.) One must dine on the deck or eat seated at the scratched and worn coffee table while watching the large television hanging proudly on the wall, the focal point of the room.
And then there are the theatre seats covered in black vinyl tucked into the corner by the door. There is a footstool, and we have dubbed it the recliner. It is where I sit typing and working on photos. It may be the most comfortable spot in the place.