You fall asleep. Your careworn body falls into a dream of following. A man with skin so pale it’s white, a twitching man whose nervousness seduces you. He calls out; checks his watch. He rushes past, a rush of longing rising in you. So, you go. A fall. A sprain. A needling need. A slow descent, descent, descent. Alight. The crush of gravity, of shelves, of too small doors. Too dizzy, halfway drunk with want, you drink. A cure for the hard-bitten heart: to shrink so small you’re almost gone. Distraught, forlorn, you eat some cake, but barely feel alive. He’s late, but you have only just arrived.