An ancient old brick church.

In front it is now a vast apartment and the one I’m living in it. The sunny front room is the Bridge, marked with monitors.

Around the back there’s a marketplace with a dozen or more tiny shops, each selling the very best of things I need. I remember best the butcher and a couple pounds of fish wrapped up in white paper with a magic marker scribble.

So not just a pretty living place, but an ecosystem to go with it.

The produce of a dream that ends at seven o’clock in the morning on a bright Solitude Day.

In the real world, no church, only a blank slot of land.

Just within a mile of the Co-op.

My dreaming outpaces any reality.

But fully realized it will be quite close enough.