The ceiling above my bed is dull white. It could be red or purple, brilliant and exciting. I can hear the flapping rain on the roof and behind the curtains, ambient gray moisture weighing my arms and eyelids. The covers a warm shelter, a beaver hut, sticks and mud, I ducked down below and try to wake up a second time in the dark warm dusty space.
Half an hour passes and I stop trying. This is it. A shower, shave, toothpaste, toilet paper sucking on cuts, everything some shade of white.
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