i was exploring the rooms in her house. i happened into one with three hanging girls, the sort to solve mysteries. they were still, suspended from the ceiling with thin rods of metal. i knew they were dead but i also knew that unless i faced them all her effort to make them grotesque would be for nothing.
when i walked to the end of the room and turned, saw the long white worms, i found i could appreciate even this.
get out. get out of the house.
he married some sort of blonde and they owned a small business. i was trying to ride my bike into their building but it is hard to ride a bike in a dream. then i tried to find a mexican restaurant. sometimes i am me and sometimes i am my cinematic uncle. he looks like me and he is me.
what went on in the house? nothing exact.