The carbon monoxide detector is functioning and quiet – same with the smoke detector – yet room after room is thick with phantoms. I run for my safety, for my life. I play my own heroine, taking the chinchillas, the sugar glider, and other important things (like an apple and lip gloss) to my car for a quick escape. I don’t have any money but I have thousands of dollars worth of clothing, shoes, and accessories. The escape becomes less quick. I make five trips back and forth from the house to the car. I’m a running mountain of dead trends and I’m going to sell the hides. The smoke is everywhere but the flames are missing. I go to two consignment stores and only get rid of four hides. I go to the bank and cash the check. I now have enough money to visit Trader Joe’s and exit in the slowest way possible – by standing in line. I also see a client and wonder if he’s asking himself how I managed to survive carbon monoxide poisoning. I don’t smell conscious and alert. I smell like brain damage and death.
I have nowhere left to go but home. I have nothing left to do but reapply Slumberhouse Jeke.