I dreamt of photos not yet developed. The aperture was not set correct.

   Towers of scaffolds moving from one destination to another by hundreds of hands; I had completed my work and was designated a transport home from A to B.

   A was represented by the colour red and green represented B.

It took me forever and a day to make it home and I don’t think I ever truly did.

   The sweat poured off my skin and I got up to take a piss. My head pounded like it never had before and my back ached from all the movement in real life, maybe from my dream life as well? Either way the drugs didn’t work.

   I put on Astral Weeks and fell asleep in the armchair, kicking over Murakami and losing the page, one chapter before the end. The rain poured and the sun shined, and my fever raged beyond the psychotropic.


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