parlour

Your hostess is curled in a chair beside a window. She looks up from her book to say,
    Sorry about the state of things; I'm remodelling. Have a look around.
She pauses for a moment to see if you have questions for her, and returns to her book.
 
Cats wander by your feet. A logbook peaks out from beneath a dropcloth.
 
A grey triangle on the coffee table is imprinted with the words "SSF: grep my subconscious." It emits a small hum, the whirring of gears.