Waking Up in a Specific Setting

Still partially sleeping, I stumble through the unfamiliar room until I find the bathroom, where I slap my hands flat on the counter and evaluate myself in the mirror. I’m trying to grow a beard. My eyes are rose red and my hair smells like smoke. There is a bidet to my left, which I contemptuously ignore. My travel pouch is stuffed with miniature versions of the shampoo, soap and razor I use every day. I step into a shower separated from the rest of the bathroom only by a curtain. The water is warm enough. My watch is beeping at me, 7:00 A.M. My body doesn’t agree, because it feels so much more like midnight. The events of the past few days flicker through my mind; fragmented images of European cities wrapped in neon blur, acts that I won’t be ashamed of until later. I have only slept a few hours, but I feel good. I dress. I’m getting ready to move on and I’m nervous about missing the bus; I’m afraid of leaving something important behind. I navigate a maze of corridors cluttered with people speaking in Dutch, German, French, whatever. Breakfast is some kind of juice, a small but strong coffee, and thick bread with salami and cheese. Danke. I never eat breakfast at home. Outside, the motor-coach is loading up with passenger cargo and a few people lull about smoking and laughing. The July sun slowly rises.