She turns to me as a sun sets behind her, through long venetian blinds.
"The only time it looks ugly, is when I cough." she says, a bit upset.
"Why do they call them venitian blinds?" I ask her.
She ignores me, sitting on the edge of the bed, and looks pensively into space.
I take a look around the room -- it is decorated from the 1950s.
Who is she, and how are we related?
How did I get here?
I don't know.