It was both like he’d expected it to be and different from what he’d imagined. It felt like Heidi all the way through—same kind of eclectic mix of objects and items that he would have guessed, considering the way the girl dressed, same sorts of things dragged in from thrift stores, but not just anything. She’d been pretty careful about what she’d chosen, but there was a lot of it, and things were scattered pell-mell. There was what looked like some kind of antique fainting couch, the upholstery beginning to fray and wear through so that the stuffing poked out. She’d thrown over that a striped, fringed blanket that looked like it had been picked up from a street vendor in Tijuana. Next to that, on the end table, was a lamp with a hula girl for its base, complete with faux grass skirt—the kind of thing you would find in a bad Hawaiian restaurant called Tiki Joe’s or something. The whole apartment was like that, carefully chosen objects that clashed in a way that you couldn’t help but like.
