I BLINKED INTO THE SPILLING LIGHT, turned away from the window, the sounds of the tinny announcer at the fútbol game across town, the street dogs fucking and fighting below.
Sometimes when I’m traveling, I can’t remember where I am. I have learned to let go of the panic, wait, and eventually, the desk, the narrow bed, the stuffed animals on the shelf, the dogs outside, the curtain-less window, the locked door will start to make sense. The things around me start to look familiar, even if just a little, letting me know where I am.