we go back to the studio apartment. my back is tender. my glasses fog up above the mask and at the top flight i feel myself falling back, but it's only my mind and my foggy glasses. i unlock the door and a wave of sewer gas envelopes us. open the back door. it dissipates but it's still in my brain. i get panicky in there. it's like the place itself is trying to breathe and there's too much stuff and history. all the things i accumulated with an impossible need. in the unconscious accumulation treasures are buried. i have to rescue these and let the space and the person that left and returns on occasion to breathe. thank you r. for accompanying me.