To get to the place I had to park at the farmhouse and walk through it. I then went down a dusty road and over a bridge. I don' know what it was or what I was doing there. It was something like a large truck farm. When I went to cross the bridge the other way to leave, some of the men who worked there started reaching out to touch me. It scared me. A few men put me on some kind of wagon or gurney and pushed me down the road, through a mob of men. The crowd parted in front of us, and soon I was back safely at the farmhouse.
As I walked down the hall and into the kitchen on the way back to my car, a woman spoke to me. She was arranging flowers. I apologized for being in her home and explained the reason. She told me it was okay and struck up a conversation with me. We talked about the remodeling she had done to the building. The walls used to be painted bright rainbow colors and she had replaced it all with a warm brown. I told her I always thought it would have looked nice if the natural brick and log structure had just been shellaced.
I began to notice multiple slides and stairs leading to the basement. Men dressed in work uniforms with helmets were coming and going. I understood that they kept the furnace burning that heated the place. I got in a conversation with one of them when the lady went outside to get more flowers. She was arranging a dinner party. Banquet tables were set up in several different rooms, but she said the party wasn't to be for a few months yet. She then invited me to come live in number eleven. I used to know someone who lived in number eleven and remembered it being nice.
But does the water love us back
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