10.1

The furnishings loom formidable, shadows with weight. My refrigerator, covered with the alphabetic magnet ramblings of a dyslexic household, has now become a creature of myth, bristling with sharp surfaces and kit from within. The chairs are traps for toes, a hundred legs thrust into indefinable darkness. The lamps are winged, ready to take flight on transparent skin. The walls expand and corners become erratic, close or far, moving to make room for the attack dogs: couch, coat rack, desk. Everything is an obstacle, madeunfamiliar and hostile by night.
My blind wife calls from the next room "Honey, did you see?"