Once in my bedroom, I undressed, listened to the house creak the way a house is supposed to creak in the middle of the night after being a hundred-plus years old. I washed my hands and face at the sink in my en suite, and slid between silk sheets where I demanded dreams like the pool boy’s, which never happened.
Perhaps, I did not know where my own dreams would carry me. But I did desire them to whisk me away to: