I woke up and the sheet had come undone. I peeled my shoulder from the yellowed mattress and looked across at my phone to see the time. A red light blinked intermittently and I couldn’t tell, from the light coming in from the window it was early morning. When I arrived I hadn’t been able to tell what the area was like as it was after dark and I’d been too tired to venture out. I padded across a dusty floor to fully open the cracked curtains and glanced out at the street. Outside a group lay, surrounded by dogs, under the shelter of the corner of a supermarket. Around them was a trail of graffiti, empty boxes and wine cartons. I lifted my foot and dusted it off using the curtain to balance. My eye caught the sun and I became unbalanced, allowing myself to collapse, seated onto the bed. I brushed my other foot and stood again, looking for my slippers. My bag remained open from when I’d arrived but it’s contents had slipped to rest by the chair legs. It was far too full and a little too big for the chair. I splatted each slipper down and slid my feet into them, feeling a film of dust roll to my heels like till, resting in the worn slipper pile. Sighing, i lifted my towel from my bag and sniffed at it. It had been damp when I’d packed it and now most of my bag had a low emanating musk, it was still damp. My soap bag had a broken zip and as I lifted it I was careful not to let it open and pour it’s contents out. I got a strong whiff of a pain gel which I carry for pain in my back and I noticed that the corner of the bag had a thin smear which had soaked to the outside.  I opened the bag to examine the contents and the possible damage. A large splodge of gel had oozed out of its metal tube, now bent and broken. My toothbrush sat above, seemingly having escaped the gel. I took the bag, my towel and some clean boxers through to the small bathroom and lock the door behind me. Taking some tissue, i wipe the corner of the bag, taking the same care as a mother would, wiping an infant with sores. I couldn’t afford, and would be unlikely to get, another bag here. I hang the towel on the door handle over the boxers which are wedged in to protect them. I undressed, stepped over a small puddle and enter the pokey shower, brushing the moist curtain with my hip. I examine the set up and prop the shower head south it faces my chest rather than my feet. It is about eye level. As I turn on the tab, i step back, my buttocks now fully against the cold curtain. The water spurts and jets and then trickles to a constant tepid stream. At first I am content just to clean my arm, testing the water. After a second I muster the courage and I step under, allowing myself to get wet. My skin responds with raised hairs and I duck to start washing.  The water seems to lose pressure and temperature all at once and I react and twist the tap, readjusting both myself and it. The water spurts again and from somewhere unseen a laboured groan turns into a screech, steam rises and I feel heat over my fingers. My body drips impatiently and cools as I determine what the situation is. I summon a constant again and step under washing briskly. My skin shines with soap and moisture and my thoughts tick over days and years, the water becomes pleasurablefor a moment. A screaming rises from beneath and the shower head kicks back with a jet of scintillating water. I step back to the curtain again but my shoulder glows red where the water ran briefly. I spin the tap and wait, the screech stops and I try again. The cold burns and I wash the soap from myself. Off, I reach to the door handle, around the curtain, for my towel. Forgetting my underwear. I hear it fall to the floor and peek round to see the elastic waistband skimming the edge of the puddle. I bend to rescue them with pinced fingers and they catch the handle again.  I rise to begin drying myself and knock the shower head with my head. It thuds to the shower tray spraying my red shoulder with droplets as it falls. I handle it like rope and slip it back into its sheath. My towel goes under my arm and I use my hands to throw the drips from my limbs. Noticing the corner of the towel is on the curtain I turn it and dry myself, confused which end is which. I get into my dry boxers and slip my towel round my waist and my feet into gritty slippers. I pad back to my room, dripping and unsatisfied. 

Mr Hummels