Naptime interruptus

 
I closed my eyes on the black leather sofa.
 
Ahhhh. It felt so good to just lay there. Backpack off. Messenger bag off. Both piled in a heap on the floor next to me. 

As soon as I had found the key to Shaun’s, placed under a bench outside her flat, I breathed a sigh of relief and felt a wave of thankfulness sweep over me. 

Finally. 

The non-stop travel from America and the loss of my night and sleep had started to wear on me and all I wanted to do was close my eyes and just be. 

But it didn’t last long. No sooner had I begun to relax there was a bang on the door. 

Ignore it, I thought. You don’t live here. Don’t open the door. 

Then, another knock. 

OK. Ask who it is. 

I stubbornly got up and walked to the door. 

“Who is it?” 

“It’s Tim,” said a heavily accented Australian from behind the bright blue painted door. 

Right. That meant nothing to me. 

I figured if he said his name, he must have known the people living there, so I popped the door ajar and poked my tired head out. 

“Oh right, hey there, you must be Shaun’s friend.” 

I opened the door the rest of the way. 

“I’ve just come to pick up my mail, I used to live here.” 

I let him in, retreating back to my couch. 

“So, where ya’ been?” 

Thus, our conversation began, and the sleep I was so looking forward to quickly slipped through my fingers. 

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Wandering the mean streets of Poplar

By the time I got to Shaun’s flat in London, my backpack and messenger bag were brutally weighing me down.

Like I knew they would.

I just hadn’t expected it to happen so soon.

I had wondered through the Poplar area of town for nearly two hours before I successfully found Shaun’s home. It wasn’t her directions that were poor, it was the person following them had a serious case of travel brain.

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