A dream of mail.

The other week I dreamnt -

I'm back in the walled-in back porch of my last apartment in the city that I used to live in, and I bend over to get a pile of mail that's left in a dusty corner, as sun streams through the few windows and lights up the exposed two-by-fours and plywood everywhere, and, as I unfold some advertising fliers that couldn't be forwarded, I see around 6-7 letters of around the same size, and I look at the address, and they are all from my brother.

. . .