“What the hell is this?” “My room.” He glances over his shoulder at me. “It’s a bed with stacks of books piled on the floor. Where is your dresser? Your curtains? Perhaps a rug to keep your feet warm when you first pop out of bed?” “Don’t need them.” “What the hell do you do with your money?” he asks with a shake of his head. “Invest. Save. I don’t know. Buy books.”
