This is the smallness of your mind. You are allotted two chairs, a bed, some linens, and a chest of drawers. If you want to bring a picture frame, no one will care. Make sure it’s a good one, because you will be living here and staring at the picture for a very long time. Can you paint the walls? you ask. Yes, well, we permit the painting of the walls once every fifteen years. Any more often and you might get radical ideas of change in your mind, and those are very dangerous sorts of ideas to entertain. We recommend a butter yellow or a pigeon’s shade of gray-blue. One fellow painted his walls electric green, and he was seasick for fifteen years straight. You are free to choose, but captive to the consequences of your choice. Oh, you are claustrophobic? you say. Well, they tell us books are good for enlarging the mind. You are permitted one volume every two weeks from the library down the hall. You may choose the first letter of the author’s surname, and we shall select the book from there. Saves you the exhaustion of the search. The mind is easily fatigued by words, you see. I don’t recommend reading in the evening-hours, since it’s been our observation that too many night-reading men are given to dark profundities that sooner or later make them mad. They fare best who read a page or two over a light lunch of muffins and tea.