Feet in saltwater, head tipped to the sky, the screech of gulls ahead. Idle fishing pole gripped in your palms, disobedient fish swarming below the pier.
A call in the distance that sounds like your mother’s. You turn to holler back –
You blink awake to cool sheets, rat-tat-tat of a fan above. For a second you think you’re home and your brother’s about to rush in, banging at the door, but you know this grey ceiling, the university-issued closet in your periphery.
Coffee. Then consciousness.