Not until I pulled down the blinds did I realise that I was going to sleep in the workroom of a photographer. Or should I say hobby room, because the sliding door had been marked with the word “hobby”, only the letter h had met some unknown end at one point. Beautiful stuccos in the ceiling didn’t make the room any less looking like a box. There are shelves and shelves with things. Photo albums, binders, boxes marked with “negatives” and other things that I don’t remember the word for, stacks of envelopes, random old photos lying around, big desk, magnetic board, desk lamps and a set of spot lights underneath the cabinets, a computer, some kind of special printer, a brush, lots of over-grown plants, several lithium batteries for digital cameras, fixtures for infrared lights on the walls. Old slides marked with “summer 1987” lying about.

I’m supposed to sleep in the middle of someone’s dream. I can’t go to bed just yet. I’m only looking, I swear!