Failing to sleep.

Can’t sleep. I’m writing this instead of staring at the ceiling. There’s a mosquito in the room, I can hear it whining close to my ear. Very humid, air like filthy soup, plus we’re supposed to wear our face masks in bed too but I was running with sweat so I ripped mine off just now. Got up and looked at myself in the mirror on the landing — ribs like a fence, hair in greasy rats’ tails. Yesterday the rats in the kitchen were busy gnawing away at the breadbin, they didn’t even look up when I came in.

Darjeeling.

She smiled broadly because I'm going to make her a cup of tea, her favourite brand and she drinks it every morning before work.