A view from a room (suggested by cayetana)

The walls surrounding me are pale blue, like the sky on a particularly sunny day.  That blue is broken up by massive bookcases rising like mountains against the sky.  Each shelf is crammed with books, mostly science fiction and fantasy, spines well worn and creased, evidence that the books were read eagerly if without a little care.  Many of the books are mine, but even more are my roommate's.  Also his are the knickknacks that adorn the top of the shelves: small statues, painted egg shells, a ceremonial knife, and the odd occasional oversized book.  Squeezed between two bookcases is a futon couch, coffee table in front of it with magazines spilling out from beneath.  The television is on behind me as I sit facing away from it.  Some movies and television shows are as fun to listen to as to watch.  Television doubling as old time radio. 
My fingers clatter over the keyboard as I'm typing.  My monitor is framed by the window behind it.  The entire wall in front of me is made up of windows that over look the porch, which is almost entirely made up of windows.  The desk itself is rickety and about four years past it's expiration date.  The smooth surface is bowed slightly, and marked with dried glue and flecks of paint.  The television is loud, but not loud enough to drown out the growling of thunder.
I save what I'm writing and shut off the computer, and walk out on to the porch, lying down on our sagging couch.  I can hear the rain pattering against the windows and the roof.  I wait patiently for the flicker of lighting.  The sound of the rain is the same grey noise you hear when riding the T.  It's a sound that washes the thoughts from your mind, leaving it still and open.  Waiting.  The flash of light comes, and the thunder trailing behind it.  Flicker and flash, crash and boom.  The stillness in the storm.