My floor smells like oatmeal. Ladies carrying their grey streaks, sparse makeup and their special cups with green tea or a strong shot. I walk in the mesh of the carpet my face still tingling from a morning commute. My awesome bike comfortably stretching its back against the wall by my desk. I pet it with my eyes each time I walk out of my dim-lit cabin. I will go to the black room tonight to spend my evening away buried and journeying. Few others chose this place weeknight and I am happy it is so.
The other floor smelled like headache nervousness and hunger. Exposed by the plastic white lights, door always swinging, passed by everyone with their eyes on my screens my back my belly. Stuffy nose and swollen head I must have been allergic to feeling trapped. Wanting to look forward to something which could bring relief but shit was all I could think of.
Today carrying my bike and strong coffee and blue eyes I can roam an empty road. Each day I am looking forward to stepping out there to see what happens.