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A lot of my dreams take place in this grimy, cozy city world. It’s a tan place with plenty of square corners, but everything’s small and organically placed, and connected by forgotten twisty passages. If there were sound in my dreams, I know there would be music coming from nearly every room. Since it’s almost always twilight in these dreams, warm light splashes out into the walkways that connect everything.
It’s a place I’d love to hang out in for a while. I think I could live a quiet, communal life there. But every time I visit it’s because I lost something, like a bike, and I spend the whole time backtracking to the last few places I remember stopping that evening. I’ll pass friendly (but disinterested) groups of people chatting. I might find five other bikes that look similar to mine, but aren’t mine. The town’s too safe for them to be locked up, but I can’t shake the feeling that maybe mine was stolen, and it wouldn’t be so bad for me to take this one that’s almost like it… but no, I’m sure I’ll find mine soon.