I wake up in a room I didn't rent. Where the walls once bore pictures, there are rectangles of unblemished paint. The wooden floor is bare and worn. The place is empty of furniture. I don't know what street I'm on, what city I'm in...
I haven't looked out the window yet. I'm just sitting on the floor, watching the shadows move across the wall. Calm.
Ghosts come and go.
I am not frightened.
This is a waking dream.
This is the mind telling the mind stories.