Almost in a mist, I walked down a wet, busy street with vehicles flying by overhead, shuttles like I remembered when I was first waking up, lots of people in uniform tunics, dual color, walking here and there, and music coming out of the building ahead.
Beside me, holding my hand, walked a very beautiful, blonde-haired woman, whose presence seems quite familiar and comforting, and she leans closer, perhaps for warmth, as droplets of water fall from above, but my reflection in the window looked taller than what I have been seeing in the mirrors in the hotel rooms. Overhead is a sign, "Chez Hoites" (for all you English-only-speakers, that is "shay What" and it means the place of the soulful people).
Just as the door slides open, half to one side and half to the other, to show a room full of lush, green decor, ornately draped and well-appointed tables and an old man, who is playing a rich, forlorn melody on a small accordian, I awakened suddenly, startled, in my rented room at Kobenhavn, its walls covered with pictures of strange, mythical creatures, to hear the ding of an announcement.
Government Center...Another ration. Great. I need a new barf bag for the trip back to Tau. For some reason, I just can't call it home. I'm not sure if I even know what that is.
I've been laying low, reading everything I can get my hands on, almost in a nervous breakdown, worried about my recent performance on the job. I'm still a little freaked out over my run-in with those pirates. Remind me not to indulge Pompano on any more of his errands.
I'm sure I am not someone prone to freaking out, and I don't think I should be so fragile, so I think I need to just bite my tongue and go listen to that freak at the cloning center, maybe figure out what's going on with me. Whatever it is, it's his fault anyway.
I feel like I'm taking back a defective shaver, but this is me. I'm taking ME back to the shop I seem to have come from.
Maybe that's what's freaking me out.