Hours staring at the ceiling, the wall, curling up into a ball. It seems annoyed with the light, it kind of recoils. It will get lighter. I wonder where it goes in the day.
The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the
morning, when I'm not quite right.
...
Like the tide, it comes in and it washes over the beach. It's beautiful. But
like the tide it goesout, sometimes it goes out further than it ever has, it
recedes back across the beach and further out beyond the horizon. The bare
seabed opens up in front of you and all you can do is look at it.