I’m in a flat. It’s mine all my stuff is here. All of my records, equipment, pictures, furniture etc. All set up, laid out, unpacked like I’ve been here at least a while. I don’t recognise the place. I’m wandering around, exploring. Opening cupboards. Checking stuff out. I go to the front door and check outside. I don’t know where I am. Outside is hazy. I’m in a city, there’s car and busy noises but I just can’t focus on where I am. As I shut the front door inside snaps into sharp focus again. It seems late. Early evening. I’m dressed like I’ve come in from work. Smart. Office job. Business. I look in a mirror it’s me. A together me. Lovely hair. On the chair an expensive bag. On the carpet expensive shoes. I go to the kitchen and look for a glass find one and look for wine. It’s there. Red. I poor myself a large glass and sit down I turn on the TV and it’s a view of the ocean from a small boat. I change the channels and it’s the same thing. The sound of the gentle waves on a calm sea. I notice tiny little flecks of blood on my blouse and skirt and tights. The more I look the more these flecks trace out surgical lines. Cuts. Like the remnants from wounds almost healed. The more I stare these lines almost look like the dotted lines on a butchery diagram. I remain calm. This seems like fun. This feels very comfortable. I drink my wine, cross my legs, lean back and watch the ocean.