TEXT: The tiles were the colour of heron. They were cold against her face. It had been a long night, and the heat was unbearable. The door was very tall, and she was sure the door key was in the bottom of her bag, somewhere. Each time she moved her head, the world span. The cubes were making her feel ill. She closed her eyes, they were sore. Sleeping on her own doorstep, curled like a cat, waiting for her owner to wake and let her in.