I creep along the corridor, open the door and slide in under the duvet. My feet are ice. The sheets are white and chill against my skin. I cannot muster the bodily warmth to heat them. I fold the duvet in two and hope for sleep. It comes. Soon.
I dreamt of the house in Spain. My work was everywhere. The agent had arranged an open day to attract buyers. They all spent the time viewing my work. Some were sellotaped to the wall. I’d forgotten it was there. That they were there.
