The faint scent of lingering dust stirred me from sleep the next morning, a Saturday, the promise of a weekend stretching out before me.
Blinking against the brightness, I squinted as golden rays of sunlight filtered through the grimy windows.
Instead of the plush embrace of a cozy bed, I found myself sprawled on the hard concrete floor, using one of my clothes as a makeshift blanket. It had been a restless night; I couldn't recall how many times I had tossed and turned before finally surrendering to sleep. Even now, my eyelids felt heavy, and I yearned for a mattress—any kind would do—anything but this unforgiving ground beneath me.
