when nothing really mattress

Being back has been all too much. My body is toiling through an endless misery of sudden change and dark culture shock. And it feels like during the four days I have been travelling underwater, through endless airports and then a change of climate, into dark short days and misty frozen nights, the Western world has caught fire at both ends – America seems to have exploded in all of its underlying injustices and Australia has now from what I can gather officially turned its back on the Refugee Convention of which we were originally one of the instigators. Berlin is overwhelming and dirty and livid with struggle and grime. The two of us have been sleeping, incessantly, on a narrow mattress which requires everybody to sleep on their sides and all turn at once. At intervals we get up and stumble about in the cold, following the dog whose yipping almost split my ears when we first picked him up. My partner got on eBay and looked up mattresses. He has bought a decent, little-used bed for a price we can afford. The guy is about to go away for the week up to Cologne. Oh god, seven more nights balanced on our sides. “Well,” said the mattress owner, “why don’t I leave the key to my apartment down in the garden house and you can pick it up and come take the mattress away.” “Okay…” “Just take the mattress,” he said cheerfully, “try not to take any of the other stuff.” Some people really rock.