A hotel room somewhere — a slow story for the end of the day, when you need to stop thinking about work — for a restless night

Nobody in this city knows where you are, and that is restful. The curtains are heavy and close properly, which is rarer than it should be. The bed has been turned down, and the sheets are cool on the side you have not been lying on.

The bathroom light is off, and the fan has finally stopped. The air conditioning makes a low sound that you will stop noticing within a minute. There is a small card on the desk with the breakfast times on it, which do not matter tonight.

Your eyelids can be too heavy to open, and that is fine. Feel your wrists loosen.

Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed. Let your shoulder blades spread out and drop.

There is a bottle of water on the bedside table with the cap already loosened. The carpet is the colour of weak coffee and absorbs every sound.

Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be. Let your ribs stop working so hard.

Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them. Now feel your whole body at once, lying here, being held up.

The pillow is slightly too soft, and you fold it in half, which fixes it. A tram goes past below, and you hear it before you see it.

Notice any tension that arrived while you weren't looking. If your body wants to move, let it move, then come back.

Let the back of your neck lengthen out. Let the mattress take all of it.

Just the dark. Softer.

Sleep. Let the room get slightly further away. Let the sound of this go soft at the edges.

Work thoughts are allowed to be there. They just do not get to drive.

The room is dark, the day is finished, and nothing is required of you.