Three good reasons the police won’t come.
As has been my loud sleeping wont for decades, about half an hour ago, I woke myself yelling aloud(ly) something like: “Get your guns, George Wood is hiding in… [some names]’s…room”. It was fully sensible in the dream.
Three reasons the police won’t come: this top floor studio is isolated from any neighbors’ by no shared wall and a gap floor; it’s in the middle of the night; and likely the neighbor doesn’t understand yelled English well enough.
People are unconscious of their lingual being.
I walk with mirror and difference, more to pass the time with modest curiosity, for there is really nothing I can expect in such a crowded evening
To my dismay, seem to be in limbo.
Stephen Lapeyrouse . . . Notes Dropped Along the Way 