we were driving through a run-down downtown toward dusk, and the sky was an angry orangey-red, like charn when the sun was dying.
you were taking me home. “home.” it was an old mill turned office building or apartments. home in these dreamscapes is rarely what it should be. or always what it can’t be.
you left me there outside my apartment in a building full of strangers … or empty of anyone i knew. they are different but much the same. what matters is i was alone.
you called me on the phone, worried. you needed to get something important … a letter …
i knew what it would say.
i didn’t want to read it.
i woke up before you got back, but i knew what it said just the same.
what dreams may come before we shuffle off this mortal coil?
