Marla Zinger: On the third day, a ridiculous situation happened to me.
Marla Zinger: overnight at her match, awakened from the grinding of the grass-cutting machine, the homon of birds and the rumbling of trams.
Marla Zinger: Well, I’m giving out on the machine: "<name>, close the window" and for convincingness I’m pushing it to the side.
Marla Zinger: And here I understand that the name I named was not him, but the guy I just slept with recently, brotherly on the couch. You would see EETY’s eyes. I thought he would squeeze my pillow now. Annette turned to the other side and grabbed.
Marla Zinger: All the time before he woke up, I imagined paintings painted with the blood of virgins: how he first brutally kills me, then finds him, and just as brutally kills me.
Marla Zinger: I was afraid, and he stood up, kissed me and went for coffee. This is a dream amnesia.
Marla Zinger: But I still ask him with great concern to close the window, or suddenly remember details and characters.
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