I come to the space empty-handed and spend time there. I am drawn to the carpet. There are indentations where furniture once stood. A section of the skirting board that was once hidden behind a bed or wardrobe has a layer of dust on it. I lie on the floor, flat on my stomach. I put my hands behind my back and grasp my left wrist with my right hand and hold tight. I start to make my way across the room. At first I rely on my shoulders to give me enough lift to propel myself forward but as the carpet burns become unbearable I use my face to push myself on.