The first time I felt something was off was right after I got home.

Guest stops at the entrance of the room. A studio apartment, white walls, a low table, a bed. Nothing has changed; it's the familiar room. And yet, there was a strange snag at the edge of my vision. I turn my gaze. The small trash can sitting next to the bed. A black plastic one, the kind you see anywhere.

I feel like I usually keep it a bit closer to the wall. Now it's slightly further forward. Just a few centimeters. It was a shift small enough to be dismissed as having been kicked by accident.