The wooden floorboards of the staircase are strewn with photographs. Even though they are sepia-toned, that is just a new Instagram filter. I am perusing a file in the room we call the “sun” room: it’s the room where R Cube used to read moth-eaten cookbooks and come up with unique recipes for jams and pickles. I open a file. “War is Peace. Freedom is slavery. Ignorance is strength.” I am taken aback by the Orwellian reference. Since when did R Cube (I am told that she refers to herself as R3 these days), with her mismatched ornaments and a penchant for alcohol and grief, write a journal? There is so much that I still don’t know about her.