Hostelling

A room of complete strangers.
Seven beds, four bodies
Including mine.
One snoring, two sleeping,
One writing.
Unused to being unaccompanied.
Missing the familiar.
Missing her body.
Missing the silence...
The snoring louder now,
Grosser,
More disgusting.
You can almost feel the phlegm
In the faceless stranger's throat.
So hot in here.
I wonder for a moment if I snore.
I kind of hope I do.
I can get revenge.
At least I'm on a bottom bunk
With nobody on top.
At least I'll be spared sleep farts.
I won't be stepped on
as someone ascends,
This is ok.
As long as I have a bed,
A locker,
Something to write on.
I can sleep here.