THE TRACKSUIT

THE TRACKSUIT

It’s the morning after the night before, you’re hungover, and feeling a bit worse for wear. You know that looking at your bank balance is gonna make you even more depressed. You put your feet down precariously on the floor, hoping that you don’t step on a greasy kebab wrapper that remains from last night. It’s already past 12, and you need to do something with your day, but you don’t care what you look like. You want to be comfy. There were you left them, on the back of your chair, your go to comfy tracksuit bottoms.
You grab them off the chair and hold the soft cloth in your hands, savouring it. You start to put them on. You step into them right foot first, it envelops your leg, the soft cloth is calming, it’s soothing, you feel more relaxed. Then the left leg, the same overpowering feeling of comfort swamps you. You stand there for a moment just feeling so free. There baggy in all the right places. You swagger on towards the kitchen, you whack on the kettle. You start to brew the coffee, you open the fridge - THERE’S NO MILK! But you then remember you are prepared for this, you can go anywhere, do anything - you’ve got your trackies on. You stroll to the shop, enjoying your first cigarette of the day, you walk boldly and defiant, who cares what people think of you.
Your home now, you have your coffee, the sun is shining, you sit back on the sofa and relax. You turn on netflix, you’ve got a series you wanna watch. You don’t have to do anything but relax.