There was a red leather sofa, a plate of old crab and a tall narrow glass container in the centre of the room. The floor sounded like it was hiding something, the curtains smelled like a sailor’s beard. Not all the windows were hidden, some had been nailed shut and some had flies lining up for the orgy in the rot on the sills. You could see as if through frozen corneas; yesterday’s smoke rising up to meet last week’s fumes on their way down to join the smog in the upholstery. The creeping dust provided a winter coat for the badger on the shelf and the palm by the easel. Remnants adorned the place; shells, skins and shavings gathered to see the body on display. Draped like a lip on a bite from an apple, she lay beneath a thick fur coat and hat and gloves and didn’t stir or twitch; her pipe spilled dragon on the couch for three hours now. I passed out again after seeing my own reflection in the glass.