Underground, through a wooden door off a old hallway, a dim room of old shoes. Under the lone light bulb I sift through musty leather laces and boots, one’s caramel marbled with rusty green, another one cobbled by hand: tall, black, shining. I leave and rise to the first floor of my dream, where I exit the building to be alongside my friends on the long promenade by the sea. Everything is like an overexposed photograph.
A seismic shift. The promenade cracks and bends sharply seaward, each of my dream friends slide and crash against the blinding edge of sky. I’m falling, sliding, but find a hole between the white stones large enough to fit through, and dive into it. I am back underground near the steps to the old hallway, full of fear and slow onset relief. I slowly climb the stairs to see.
Outside everything is ice and ash. Trains scream past on iron tracks, their cabooses totally iced over, a crystalline train on a black track. A big car pulls up, an Escalade or similar, my boss exits the rear door, smiling big and warm, his cap sun worn and dusty. He walks towards me, a sunny figure in a bleached land of ice.