The flat is in a heap. In a messy state of nonsense. My mind has been more organised lately, feeling better in a general sense, but conversely my place of residence is not at its most charmismatic.
I've left the washing up for a couple of days, the aftershave and toothpaste are on the sitting room floor, I'm surrounded by notes from my class, and the smell has returned. Something is decaying, I think it's the spuds I threw in the bin yesterday.
Old clothes thrown on the chair, DVD cases containing CDs, CD cases containing nothing at all. This isn't like me. Johnny didn't train me to be unkempt in the home.
I normally look after the place, keep the sheets clean for the lady caller that never shows up, as if from nowhere. Wash the dishes as I use them. Spray Febreze about the place. I'm tidy as a rule.
Now, however, I'm wondering how the fuck that stain got there, and no, it's not THAT.
On closer inspection, it's not a bottle of aftershave on the floor. It's water. And the toothpaste is nothing more sinister than a tube of KY Jelly...