Thirsty and Dreaming

I woke up thirsty and dreaming. The multiple dimensions I’d been visiting appeared to me as a set of interlocking mirrors of different sizes, and they were just about to collapse and shatter. I was a perverted guy who lived on the ground floor of an apartment building in a Latin American city, I was the woman who lived above him, and I was the journalist interviewing them both and moving back and forth. I carried a pillow with me from the attic storeroom of the place to the balcony and I did this several times, always encountering my boss and wondering vaguely, without concern, whether he would think I was doing this for the purpose of napping, when I wasn’t. The mirrors reminded me that I’d been and done so much more than I could ever remember. They slanted in toward each other to form the narrow alley where I walked; their texture turned pebble-grained though still clear, then they began melting like mercury. By now I was almost asleep again and realized I would remain thirsty. I would sleep on thirst because it gave me something to go on.