Wachewa! The BDP in quagmire

Every time I approached one, they would conceal their faces from view.  Everything looked like a black and white photo film.  The world was without colour.  It was a hideous world of spirits and kindred ogres and thokholoshes, short stubby fellows with hairy chests, and mouths at the front and the back of their heads.  Artful masters of double speak. They spoke only in guttural whispers, like small boys trying broken voices. We were closed in Plato's cave.

I touch my forehead and feel dampness from drying sweat.  My wife snores gently next to me, like a purring cat resting from the day's chase.  She seems without a single care in the world. Lost, too, in the world of her own spirit.  Two heads that lie on a pillow.