There was a wave that floated through his head, and as it passed through him it filled him with ease and a sense of weightlessness.
But then he woke.
He saw up in bed. She was gone already. He faintly remembered the sound of the shower running, the noise of her barefoot padding on the wooden floor as she moved about the room. She may have even said something to him, as she pulled on her black suit pants and dark blazer that she wore to work. He might have answered. He didn’t know. He had not been awake.
The room was chilly. The shutters that did their best to block out the city lights at night fluttered gently. He got up and closed the window behind them.
He went to the bathroom and pissed, then climbed into the shower and turned the water on. He stood just outside the reach of the stream, feeling the splash of the droplets on his legs. It was cold in the room, and the hair on his legs was standing up. He took several deep breaths, and stepped under the jets.
When he had dried himself off, he wrapped the towel around his waist and went and sat at the kitchen table. Lint, crumbs, and bits of sand that lined the floor of the small apartment brushed off the soles of his feet. He paid them no heed. Clean up was a weekend job. This was Wednesday, and there was work to be done.
The room was warm for so early in the day. The sun was streaming down outside, and the large glass windows and balcony door of the living room trapped the heat. He sat looking at the buildings dotted like trees on the skyline and the river below in the distance, and thought about opening the balcony door. Instead, he got up and put the kettle on.
He placed the hot mug of steaming coffee on the table, and set his laptop down in front of him. He opened it. He checked the time.
He had to leave at 9.
He opened up a text file, and started typing.