The Rink

The decor throughout the apartment is mostly the same as it was when I was young, I don’t really feel any need to change it, I don’t have anything to replace most of it with anyways. So instead I just clean, wash all the blankets on the couch, throw away any expired food in the pantry, clean out the fridge, wash the dishes, get rid of the dust that coats practically everything. By the end of the day I collapse onto the guest room bed too tired to even change clothes. The sweatpants and t-shirt I wore for move in day are comfortable enough that I have no trouble drifting off to sleep regardless, besides I was going to change the bedsheets tomorrow anyways. As my consciousness fades my mind can’t help but wander back to the rink below me, how the thump of the music and the quiet roar of the people used to lull me to sleep.

© 2025 Michelle Golden (Hljóðbók): 9798318169229

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Hljóðbók: 9 juli 2025