Exercise: Write a 200-word description of a place. You can use any and all sensory descriptions but sight: you can describe what it feels like, sounds like, smells like and even tastes like. Try to write the description in such a way that people will not miss the visual details.

(It’s only 196 words. Bite me.)

“I feel as if we fill this room. The air smells vaguely of bleach and cheap innuendo. Your breath is hot on my face, and I feel sandwiched between soft cotton and skin. I hear confrontation from the street, and it meshes with the rhythm of our breathing, creating a noisy silence that feels too big for this space. My fingers feel carpet, thick, coarse, and wiry, indicative of integrity, or lack thereof. I feel safe, but in a dangerous way, as if the sensation of your weight could veer from comforting to invasive at any moment.

My torso is flushed, but my noses, and toes, are cold, assaulted by a breeze much too verbose, manic like the urgency in which I fell into my nakedness. My head lies against Rough impersonating Soft, and your sudden whisper feels offbeat, too personal for this place.

Everything feels damp and clammy, except the dry air brushing against my calves. The altercation outside grows louder, competing with your voice, and cotton against cotton. You feel heavier, and I become aware of the harsh springs against my back. My lips feel their counterpart against them, and I taste peppermint, subdued.”