(part 1)
I wrote this for a radio contest (the first & last sentences
were given):

   "Portrait in Cobwebs"

Dallas can be a funny place sometimes: the lights, the viaducts
at night with a solitary walker; from the air it can look quite
magical. The figure stops, bends over the rail. To throw
something off? I used to live in a church. High up on one
side under the roof, with not much of a view, but it was
cheap. After the debacle i'd put most of my stuff in storage.
The room i lived in now was more like a book-lined closet.
I folded up my futon in the morning so i could have floor
space, & the ceiling slanted wildly.
   I never seem to end up living in rectangular
rooms somehow, just these crazy shapes that have no
name.
   But there was a stereo downstairs that i
could use. Often at night i would sit down there in the huge dark
drafty echoing hall with a handful of secondhand records & a
goblet of Rumanian wine in my white-gloved hand. I felt secure,
even though the outside door didn't lock & this wasn't the best
of neighborhoods. In fact, the people nearby were all filled with
superstitious dread of the place. They said it was run by witches,
or it was haunted.