...I found myself in the corridor where I had stood that first morning sucking your thumb; I had not been there since, nor had I wished to go again because your scent is nowhere to be found and I can't resist smiling at the soldiers who bow before me to squeeze my left cheek because it is sizeably larger than its right counterpart and I have yet to overcome my addiction to gardenias, even though they do not mix with stewed carrots and spinach, and while leaning against the looking-glass I saw nothing, heard nothing, but continued to wait for something to happen to us because we could no longer live on the mountain where the thickening residue (consisting of a mixture of aluminum soaps they used in jelling gasoline for assualt purposes only) is beginning to fertilize our garden of fresh vegetables and gardenias...