I turn and toss, no reason nor rhymes. This ain’t home, but then, I’ve dozed in buses. Colors, rhythms, patterns and smells, warp in and out of sense. Trippy, strippy – this is all at once. Oh, am I that girl with golden locks? Or the princess who felt a pea, twenty mattresses across?

* * *

This 55-word story is in response to a prompt on ‘bed’ from here.