The smell of wet dog was as much a property of the carpet as it’s faded stains.
I sometimes would pick lint from between my toes, sometimes from my hair. So many years giving off lint, I wondered when the carpet would just disappear.
I ran track for years and I’d come home exhausted and lie on this mouldy wasted space. I’d think to myself, so much running, to end up back here. I must be doing something wrong… Why learn how to run far and fast when you end up sleeping here every night?
It was obvious I’d follow suit to everyone but me. I had dreams and wishes, and now the only track I know is the one I’m slowly building on my arm, one rubber-band at a time, one prick at a time.