Time moves differently in quarantine. I sleep with my window open, letting in the light from the street. I wake up looking outside, taking in the bright grey of Glasgow from my bed. I often lie there for a while, after waking, taking in the prospects of another day at home. I go to sleep at night looking out the same window, trying to recollect how many nights I've gone to sleep in quarantine, wondering how many more I'll go to sleep and wake up looking out at that same view.