I glance in the mirror on my way outside to get the mail, and adjust my scarf. I'm barefoot but the ice on the steps doesn't bother me, nor does the gravel in the driveway. Our mailbox isn't at the end of the driveway but halfway up, attached to a tree. I check to see if any of the mail is addressed to me, and only two letters are. I promptly throw all of them in the snow, because it's suddenly very important that I go for a bike ride.

The barn door is much lighter than usual, I open it easily. There's nothing in there but the bike which is presumably mine. It's oversized; the wheels are probably 75cm in diameter. In place of my neighbor's yard there stands an office building, with a large empty parking lot. I jog over there and begin riding, very slowly.

The snow is still falling but it's not very deep yet. It's night, and I can see the stars very well. They're exaggerated, though: large round spots of white that look as though they've been cut out and glued there. There are several lampposts, and I am fascinated by the shadows the spokes of the wheels make. The tire tracks of the bike diverge every time I make a turn, looking like the outline of a ribbon.

A man comes out of the building. He's smoking, and his voice is scratchy. He looks at me, and I back at him. "You are not allowed here." His inflection is odd, it reminds me of my grandparents and so I think English is not his first language.

I try to say something, but my voice isn't loud enough for him to hear me. I decide that I don't care, and sit down in the snow. I'm trying to read what the bike tracks say- the ribbon-like pattern is actually script. I can't understand it, though. I can hear the man behind me, laughing. I stand up to glare at him.

"How unladylike," he says, now seriously angry with me, "You know that it is against the rules!" He says something else, too, but his strange accent is distracting and I'm not really listening.

I want to answer, but I still can't speak. I pick up my bike, and some black-and-white photographs which seem to have spontaneously appeared.

...Then I wake up and yank the alarm's cord out of the wall since I can't find it but I do know exactly where it's plugged in. It really wasn't supposed to go off at three thirty. I'm pretty pissed because I wanted to finish that dream. Now I have to take it apart and find out what's wrong with it...