A dream: a rambling serial killer narrative, complete with hokey clues and red herrings, is interrupted by a TV screen showing a giant tortoise swimming underwater. The tortoise is speared in the back of the neck by a fishing hook. Someone near me mutters the tortoise died. I stumble-run for the exit of wherever I am and collapse outside on some stairs, weeping uncontrollably.

I wake up, hot and sweaty. My mouth is dry from all the snacks I had earlier, the beer. I go upstairs and pour myself a glass of water. Through the kitchen window I think I see someone on the balcony of one of the units opposite my townhouse. Just standing there.