Permission

MIRI

I closed the apartment door behind me and leaned against it. Dishes and food from last night still sat on the coffee table and our bed sheets were all tussled. We’d been in such a hurry to see li’Morl this morning we hadn’t cleaned up. And last night, well…Let’s just say cleaning wasn’t exactly at the top of our to-do list. But now I felt stuck. Suddenly the studio flat felt too big, and way too quiet.

I would have loved the company of voices, but we didn’t have a TV, so I plugged my phone into its docking station and put on some reggae - old stuff by Bob Marley that James had turned me on to. But it wasn’t long before that wasn’t doing the trick for me. I flicked through to the local English talk-radio program and put it on. I’d found it not long after we moved here - it was the only Wi-Fi streaming station I’d found in English, but they mostly reported the news, so I didn’t listen to it much. But today I needed voices; I needed to not feel alone.