140 stairs. 6 AM
it’s 6 AM and i have 100 stairs left to walk. here I am. fuck. i inhale deeply one more time, before I turn the key to the right, slowly, to not wake mom. but mom is already getting ready for work. as I am giving her my most tired hug, I wonder if she can smell how many cigarettes I had after we closed the bar. Saturday nights give me back pains, lazy feet and sometimes hangovers, but I still don't want to go home earlier than 7 AM, just to feel that I have lived a bit between work and sleep. mom doesn't notice or she refuses to see that i had a few beers. she sometimes tells me that my hair smells like the bar. and we’re sharing the little bed. we are sharing everything since i moved in her little house. I now know how much it takes her to get ready for work, to take a shower or how does her free time really look like. for 15 years I had no idea. it's overwh