She wondered what he thought, walking down the hall past the sleeping bodies, the filthy kitchen, the cracked tiles, the dripping faucet. She’d told him what it was like, but it’s different when you witness it firsthand. To see how she really lived. She supposed it didn’t really matter anymore, but still, this wasn’t the image she wanted him to remember her by.
(Okay, I did cheat this week and go over fifty words, but whose counting? :) )