Woken from a dream by post-nasal drippage coughing to climb out of a warm-lover bed and sit up on the blue glow whirring computer, sucking on a drop with a roll of toilet paper.
Treading through shin-high water for escape. Looking to take the short cut to where ever it is that we're going: a destination that's safe, comfortable, and home-like. Wading through the marsh, crouching down as car boats pass, our bags are not cumbersome. Urgent, but cautious; 2 men and 2 women boasting face paint (I cannot see mine, and Dietrich's is of a raccoon) problem solve and whisper. I hop the barbed fence to the other side first. Dietrich next. Egon third. April finds a hole underneath and scootches through. Dry land walking, we've almost made it.
We all come to a large gray-toned industrial shop. We know where we are going, somehow: down this hallway, into this elevator: floor 2. The janitor pays us no heed, the mother with the stroller aggressively hip checks the elevator doors to get on. We are inwardly giddy. I grin uncontrollably on the inside. Red light ignites, we're off to sit and rest by some stairs. Exhausted, Dietrich wipes his raccoon face leaving shadows of edges around cheekbones and forehead.
We wander around for a while, climbing stairs, being safe.