The heat has kicked in and the whole building smells like the crackly crust on a burnt marshmallow. It’s the brittle, charred scent of something that’s not supposed to be burning. But you can’t complain because inside is frothy warmth, like a melted marshmallow, a welcome alternative to the rainy drafts from outside.
The first evening that it churned hot steam, my heater wailed louder than the TV. Hopefully, it will settle down as it stretches its legs (which almost resemble lion’s feet, like an old-fashioned bathrub). It’s going to be a long winter together in this room.
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