I have never slept in this room before.
There are two guitars in the corner so I know it is not
mine, but I feel at home and on the bedside table there are two books that I
would like to read. One of them is in German so I know that I won’t but the second
– a Japanese tale written in English I could.
There is a table in the corner next to the window, which is
open. It’s an old style sash window painted white, the table is triangular,
almost, and made of wood. There is room for me to set down my notebook and
start writing.
But it is late, midnight crept past over two hours ago and
the bed, which is in the centre of the room looks like the sensible place to
be. The bed is comfortable, ample in size, freshly made with sun-dried linen
and an angle poise lamp lights the pillow where my head could slumber.
But it could also illuminate my notebook.
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