In the grungy dank space of the youth hostel, Matt pressed the last shirt into his back pack and sat despondently for a few moments.
The light bulb flickered slightly as he pulled from his pocket a crinkled receipt from one of the many local Macdonalds outlets. Leaning against the greyish blue plaster wall, he scrawled a message on the paper before folding it into a tight square. In barely recognisable letters on one side was the name; "Nat", superimposed sloppily over the words "big mac".
He stepped lightly over strewn clothes and shoes; the festering packaging of cheap take away meals and empty cans. Careful not to wake the others, he careened towards the door, pulling his beanie on in the process.
Nearing the exit, he turned to glance back at the room, left in such disarray that one might assume tripping whilst moving towards the bunk beds was a potential drowning risk. Lying peacefully in their beds, he faced his fellow survivors whom he had increasingly come to know as friends. Nonetheless, he turned again, sighed and continued. At the bed closest to the door he leant quietly over the sleeping girl and in her open palm, hanging over the bedside, placed his note.
Twenty five minutes later, Matt boarded his country train, deliberately choosing an isolated carriage towards the back. As it pulled from the station, he became aware of the extent of his exhaustion, and lethargically rested his head against his bag. On the horizon, the first rays of sunlight burst through the clouds; streaks of brilliant red resting on a largely grey sky.
