Of School Rooms, Bathtubs & Cigarettes

I am in a building reminiscent of my old primary school at night. I enter a school room in which there is a class taking place. I walk over to the teacher, take the chalk from her hand and proceed to write on the board.

My friend Shari then rushes into the room, takes the chalk from my hand and says in a frustrated yet sympathetic voice “Ton, you can’t do that,” while leading me away.

I am out on a balcony enshrouded by the dark of night in which the shadows cast by the harsh light of a street lamp dance. Winter is there with me. We are smoking cigarettes made from rum and wine. He gets angry with me for smoking even though he is smoking too.

I walk away, and in a corridor of the school hall appears a bathtub filled with water, potpourri, rose petals and sorrel leaves. A boy named Rivenis sits in the tub fully-clothed. I join him in the tub, also fully-clothed. He sits at one end of the tub and I, at the other, with water red like blood from potpourri, petals and leaves undulating between us, as we smoke cigarettes made from rum and wine.