May 16, 2004|
I was thrown into a Victorian San Francisco home, which was converted into an insane asylum with soft and deep blue staircases. I shared a room with at least two other girls, one of which I shared a bed with. We touched each other but I became too excited so I had to stop.
The next day, the girl with bangs was sitting in front of a window which showed the streets and buildings quite clearly. I thought it'd make a lovely photograph but my camera wasn't on me.
I followed as they left out the unlocked stairway and piled into a car and took off. I don't know if they would have taken me if I had asked or if they were dissing me. But I didn't ask and so I didn't know. I walked toward the park.
I was hungry. The asylum staff had taken most of my belongings including my cash. All that was left were some miscellaneous coins in my pocket.
There were a few doughnuts in a clear plastic bag on the ground. I considered eating them but didn't and it's a good thing because the bag smelled so strongly of industrial chemicals that I felt ill.
I thought that I should, perhaps, periodically check in at the asylum over the years. The future generations of girls appeared in front of me, sitting on the stairs, growing older as I did.
At the park, a large group of people were letting chickens out of cages to be chased by toy dogs. The chickens were frightening creatures. One of them chased after me and I jumped on a table but it followed and was trying to bite me. I think I grabbed it and threw it but my memory is hazy. Most likely, I went into a rage and killed a lot of things.
There was some bread and cheese and other assorted food things being set up on the table after the scuffle.