In my dream, L hunts for materials for her show. The loading dock is filled with scrap that shifts into black and white while we wait in the dim morning light for the library to open.

In my dream every surface is covered in wire, exposed staples and jagged glass. My skin, clothing and hair catches as I try to slip through the barrier.

In my dream we have packed away most things around the brown tufted arm chair, revealing the corpse of an elderly woman. My friend rests her head against the naked, wrinkled back and smiles faintly, shaking her head “no” when I say “Do we know who she is?”