It might be a library.
Might.
There are books there, you CAN borrow them and I have one to return.
One that I borrowed from someone who borrowed one from here, and which I feel incumbent to return.
I show it to the woman at the gate who is asking for I.D.
She tells me to put it on the ‘internet table’.
I cross a courtyard, trees and plants grow in abundance and I am in a park.
A stately home.
A forgotten corner of a half-remembered city that has never existed.
Except in a dream.
It might be a library.
Yet.................. you can buy shark poison here.
And rope.
And cobwebs it seems.
They have a lot of cobwebs.
A friend greets me enthusiastically, he is leaving by plane in the morning and I owe him money.
We walk together. I am looking for books; he is looking for cash.
There are a lot of wools, cottons, knitting needles and a room with walls that are so high the sunlight only reaches the upper parts.
This is where the rope is displayed.
In one corner there are photographs covered in a thick layer of dust that make it impossible to see the image.
One is of me.
So I get up.
It’s 4:30 am.
Again.
No new day a-dawning.
Just the night.
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