A series of barren buildings along a desolate landscape, in no particular order, unmarked, to no discernible purpose. I have been here before, I am thinking, maybe more than once, so why did I ever return?
We wandered into the structures without number and along pathways outside. We stopped and gathered, but we were as riders on an elevator, each to her own purpose or following his own design. Like cattle, no one spoke.
The girls might be in colorful smalltown Sunday dresses. The guys moved close to the pretty ones, but were easy to discourage. One lady crowded close to me in order to deflect a suitor. No one was aggressive, all was lackadaisical but there was a humming just below human hearing of unease.
There was no particular style to the furniture; each chair and bed was like someone had placed it temporarily out of a personal stock. You could sleep in any open bed. You could find that out by occupying one and waiting for objections. I settled in one, but soon had to find a latrine.
No one asked what it was all about. Maybe everyone believed everyone else knew more than they and wanted to hide that fact. That's why I didn't ask any questions. I just roamed and stopped and then set off again.
The latrines were not many and were unflagged. I found what may've been urinals but always either privacy was unavailable or it wasn't a latrine after all. (I was of course following my own somnolent urges and my dreams scripted themselves so I wouldn't wet the bed.)
There were other beds available, though, and I found them. When I was called away I would find another wherever I happened to be. I was not sleepy, nor hungry. I just waited for a chance to leave. The ground was drab and dusty and stretched over broken uninteresting country. The walls were some sort of faded ochre stucco and the floors were chipped tile. Why were all these buildings placed here? There is no reason anyone would want to be here.
I expected to be released through some unsuspected mechanism I could not imagine and so, I'm convinced, did we all.
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