Have you ever seen a sea of screwed up paper? Its a wonder there is even room for furniture, sparse though it is.
A desk, popping out from the vast paper expanse, like an island on stilts. An uncomfortale chair, as wooden as the desk. Sitting upon the desk however, the most beautiful object in the room; a pen. A pen of such beauty, one can only imagine that any word that sprang from its magnificent tip would be pure gold.
Dirty coffee mugs surround the pen, outnumbering it ten to one. They stare at it, stifling its creativity, daring it to fulfil its potential. One coffee mug lies broken against the wall. Its contents stain the wall; a constant reminder that a fit of rage is only temporarily calming.