As I sit here, slightly less than comfortable in this wipe-clean chair, the smell of week-old urine redolent in the air. I sit here, wherever "here" is and I don't know these people. "Sit here" they say, and their voices are patient, if not especially kind, but I do not know them. "Here" where is "here"?

Perhaps this is some kind of dream; Perhaps I will wake to feel my mother's lips on my brow, see her radiant smile, hear her gentle laughter and smell her perfume? Perhaps. Perhaps.

I wish I could wake up.