My previous apartment had an odd layout. Known as a railroad apartment, it was the shape of a train car — all the rooms were in a row, with the kitchen at the front, the bedroom at the rear, and two tiny rooms in between that could barely fit anything in them.
I used one of these tiny spaces as a guest room with a full-size bed and a bookshelf, but I couldn't fit a nightstand in there.
In the other small room I had my love seat — which didn't fit in the living room — and my electric drum kit, an alternative to a real acoustic kit that wouldn't fit in the space and that I couldn't afford with my savings.
I've been drumming in bands since I moved to New York nearly five years ago, so having to settle for this practice tool over the real thing was challenging — I've had to rent practice spaces with shared drums and use house kits at venues that have to be vastly adjusted for my size. (I'm 5-foot-3, which usually makes me the smallest drummer on the bill on any given night.)