It feels awkward –after being buzzed and drunk to return to the hostel with strangers.  The two water closets are side by side, a tiny sink in between.  Two showers share one room separated by a thin curtain.  I feel exposed, imagine all my flaws raw, seen by others as I see me.

Natasha (or was it Caitlyn?) tells stories of former prison cells turned hostels, common toilets with no doors.  I can’t tell if her stories are real or embellished.  An hour passes and the rain pours down.  I will walk anyway, trying not to worry about where I am going or what I should bring.