Daydream of a Dark Kitchen

I daydream of a dark kitchen on a lost Sunday afternoon. On the outside looking in. A young man stands at a sink washing dishes, his face drawn and like sleep in the gray blue light. There is a door to the left of him - a ragged door, scarred with neglect, leading perhaps to a back garden, a yard forgotten in the rain, tiny and secret and passed over for the whole of winter, most of autumn, most of spring.
I don't know where this day dream comes from.