At that moment a spring pops in the single, second-hand mattress on which I'm perched, bouncing up with a dull, resonating twang and jabbing me unexpectedly right in the behind. For a second I'm not sure whether I'm about to cry or burst into hysterical laughter. But then the first tear falls and before I know it I'm in the foetal position, my body shaking with self-pity as I clench my mouth and eyes closed against the oncoming storm of sobs. The last thing I need right now is for my three new peers downstairs to overhear my outburst, but after weeks of holding it all in I guess that, just like Yellowstone, I've been overdue for an eruption. All I can do is bury my face in my knees and try to muffle my crying as my tears slowly soak through my jeans.
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