He would always walk up to that grotty attic, with all the cobwebs and the creaking floor. He would always just sit there, hoping for something good to happen. He would always close his eyes, and imagine a world where he lived as a prince. He would always dance, as if he was in a ballroom. He would always sit down in an old, gross chair, pretending to have a fancy meal. He would always walk around, imagining he was is a castle looking at the view. Then he would always hear his father angrily calling at him, bringing him back to reality. He would always walk down the ladder, trying to hold onto that glimpse of a good life for as long as he could.