I swung my sledgehammer, hammered up some shelves and bought a coffee table and a barstool at a local market. The latter, a stupid impulse buy.
Everyone needs a place to sleep. A journalist needs several, due to the nomadic nature of the profession. The success of a journalist therefore relies on his/hers ability to find places to sleep, either by exploiting people's good will or good old "persuasion".
The first stop in this dystopian province called "The Commonwealth" was a super mutant camp. A rather inhospitable place, which I found out a bit too late.