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

The carpet is the colour of weak coffee and absorbs every sound. The bathroom light is off, and the fan has finally stopped. The room is on the fourth floor, and the window looks out onto a street with one lit shop.

There is a bottle of water on the bedside table with the cap already loosened. Nobody in this city knows where you are, and that is restful. A tram goes past below, and you hear it before you see it.

Let your hands be completely still. Let your thighs be as heavy as they want to be.

Your chest can be still now. Your fingers can stop doing anything at all.

The bed has been turned down, and the sheets are cool on the side you have not been lying on. Your case is open on the luggage rack, half unpacked.

Let your calves spread out and flatten. Let your upper arms fall wherever gravity puts them.

Let your palms open if they were closed. Let everything you were holding today stay on the floor beside the bed.

There is a small card on the desk with the breakfast times on it, which do not matter tonight. The pillow is slightly too soft, and you fold it in half, which fixes it.

Notice if your attention is in the future. Bring it back to the room. Notice the tone of your own inner voice. Is it kind?

Feel the top of your head relax into the pillow. Let your forehead go cool and smooth.

Let the breath be the only thing you are doing. Just the breath.

Let the room get slightly further away. Let the quiet be boring. Slower now.

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

Goodnight. There is nothing left to do.