She's walking past, just as I remember her, youthful, beautiful, same haircut, ignoring me, and I follow after her, calling her name, until I catch up to her and she turns around, it's her all right, but the face is too youthful, fresher, she's ignoring me, angry...
I talk to her,..."thought you were dead", and she tells me it was to keep herself hidden from me.
Somehow or another we reconcile, begin the decades patching up, there is much to be looked forward to, catching up, and I wonder at those who lied to me and told me she was dead, but I have some unfinished, unenviable business to sort out first...
Tarps, a bar, of sorts, woven together out of tarps and sunk into the snow for the British Army to drink in, an orgy of sorts, still postponing things that need be done...
(First vivid dream in a long time, of Lisa-not-Lisa, haunting in the invitation to the underworld...mulling upon it late into the morning)