Friend's House

This one is long and thin. A yellow hue. Damp floor. Lino.
My eyes struggle to stay open. I’m just glad of a spot of relief. I’m leaving in just a few hours, To go back home. I peel back days of... A thousand worms uncanned this week... I’ll be trying to untie from some of them, with my megabus home. Some though are rooted in, and require a little care.
The room is everything required of it. There is no time to exploit the space here, what I need now is forty winks.

Friend's House

It has crisp shape, clinical accuracy, but not losing its homeliness. Stepping around the shower, a large window has frosted glass that looks scratchier than smooth. I’m in a tangled daze, this morning, and drift through (slowly unpicking), I rub at the red wine tarred on my lips. A light steam hangs off someone’s shower a few minutes before this. A high density collage of shampoo and conditioners on a little wooden set of shelves. Something about it here is not myne. But it’s safe to be here.

Pub

Such a small space the tiles grid up everywhere. Off white (in the direction of cream) and a glistening Blue. There is something farmhouse about the feel of it. Something rustic and cold. The metal urine trough lines one short wall, a man stood unsociably close to the centre... I risk the cubicle which is clean.