Sleep like ...

Beneath the snow, all is concealed until the warmth coaxes the flesh of water out into the freezing wind.

I stand only a metre from speeding cars. If I fall asleep in the snow, will I wake?

I buy apples in threes because to buy only four is bad luck, and to buy five is too much.

The hallway still carries the aroma of the soup I cooked for dinner.

I eat raspberries out of the 21st century plastic box they come in (after rinsing, of course) and am pleased to discover they suit my mood. Butterscotch ice-cream, much too sweet, like most things I've found here. A handful of raspberries sprinkled on top to vary the flavour.

Outside the window, snowflakes float like lost boats.

I tire, I am tired. Sleep dances at the edge of eyelashes, never near enough.

25 February 2003, Tuesday, 00:10 AM

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Alter ego of dandruff

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