But. The nightmares were unaviodable.


Death. Wolves. Strange disjointed music, a street that usually shows up laughing and artsy demonic and empty. White dress, sacrifice, empty faces with eyes closed, jaws slack. And throughout, I knew that no one was coming, that I was not worth coming back for. They drove away and didn’t look back. ‘Goldenrod’, the password and moonmadness sweetly descending on a dead city.

Went to sleep around two to three. Waken up before eight by a firealarm, chasing the scariest images, most of the plot away. Never so happy to have been torn away from sleep.


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