Reality tourist

Alfie pokes me. “Good morning Auntie Twiggy”. Hi-five’s me and walks off.

I wake up again later, confused. I have missed morning circle. Where am I? The extreme comfort of the bed has given me back ache.

I open the door. The smell of bleach knocks me back, I had forgotten it existed. The sound of a vacuum cleaner. It stops. The road flows by, carrying lorries, cars, people. Busy with their lives. Such common occurrences here, but I feel as if I am a tourist in the outside world.

Published by

Twigg

writer, musician, artist, joiner

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