Your eyes are heavy as you stare at your TV screen. You’ve played for long enough. You set your controller down beside your console, grunting as you get up from your crosslegged position, lumbering over a foot or two to flop into your bed. You know you can wake whenever you wish. Comatose comes quickly.

Your dreams always began in a veranda. You look out over the railing. You know the veranda is the only thing that is cohesive in your dreams. Looking at the door back inside, you’re aware entering will be different compared to yesterday, just as yesterday was to the day before that. There is nothing else to do on the veranda besides leave.