Maybe this is a poem?
So, I suppose I’ve found myself in this place that isn’t quite so odd.
This place between okay and not okay.
This place that could be contemplative, but more often becomes tedious, and I’d just as soon wish it away.
The door to 201 was jammed, so I hip-checked it open, and tried to drag the cleaning cart in behind me. Looking down, I saw that the culprit was the mangled take-out box from Taco Bell. Remnants of wrappers damp with refried beans and hot…