The sterile environment was the cheapest and safest shelter available. and I was already there.

The nights quiet and empty, the days bustling. Only one day trapped, though, thankfully, but two nights. Two nights with a cold metal chair making do as a bed. stiff joints cracked loudly upon standing. Yet the few others sharing my plight either made it more comforting or more annoying, not sure which. Both.

Only one was wanted. Longing for his warm hand on the small of my back, for the scent of wet grass and sweat, the roughness of a two-day-old beard. But it would be another day.

A man prone on the floor was snoring, the hood of his sweatshirt pulled so tightly, his face was two inches diameter.

The silence and stillness made sleep a major option. And what was the difference, really, between sleeping in the chair or sitting still for the same length of time awake? But everything was bright; polished floors, glass counters, even the walls reflected. It was forever daytime. And impossible to tell if time was really passing at all.

Unattended bags may be destroyed.

Attended bags as weights around the ankles. Preventing free movement; keeping me in my metal cage.

Sometimes I forget home. And even upon returning there, it is not the place in my head. Something’s amiss. Something’s not as warm as it should be. But never anything specific enough to put a finger on.

After the 5th hour, any place with pillows and food is home.