Shay Ishtiaq

Jemma Lee Baskins

It is a Sunday night at the gym, which means it is quiet and I am bored. As I wander between the treadmills, I listen to the sounds of metal on metal, the odd bang and strained grunt. The music in the background is a low hum of shitty pop. I walk for hours, trying to find someone to talk to, walking up and down the floor in a jaded haze, but there is no one I know.