Chapter One: Morning rituals at Monkey house

I woke up earlier than usual--it was 9 am. The sun already shined through my little room in the Monkey house. I thought what an irony, in the State of New York, on Long Island, in Brookville village, where the real-estates are among the most expensive ones in the world, for the past three months I’ve been waking up in the biggest fucking dump. Horrendous! The Monkey house, or rather a little stinking building with nine rooms about fifty two s. . .