Through the Lens, Through Myself

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I open the window, and there's a parade outside. People are marching with flags, celebrating something. Poor fools on poor land.

They gave me a huge room that looked more like a corridor. It was completely empty. It needed furniture. If I put a chair in the far corner, it would immediately feel better.

I'm in a man's bed. Clumsy, hurried movements. He turns his back to me and waits for me to leave. There are terrifying spiders on the floor. I scream, and he turns around and crushes them with his hand, almost with pleasure. It's a pleasure he never experienced while holding me or kissing me.

So many crosses, all broken into pieces.

"Anne, look."

She says she's not much of an admirer of such things. She's upset with me, angry. For some reason, I had slept somewhere warm, and she hadn't.

I want my old clothes back.

"Anne, please, come with me. I'll buy us coffee, and we can sit somewhere warm."

I guess so.