The poem she posts is not surreal, but what it imagines is nothing less. Nightmare stuff. Drug-induced stuff. Too much fucking stress and not enough resilience left stuff. At the bottom is a video link. Untouched, it shows what might be her, hair longish then and tied up, dark-framed glasses that make her momentarily unfamiliar. Touched, she sits in sunlight on a balcony. Cars appear and disappear below. Her robe is dark, the sunlit heights a storm cloud gray, the shadows in the folds midnight blue. In it, she looks larger than he recalls. He runs the video first with no sound to distract him from the watching of her.