So I managed to talk to somebody. Not much happened after that. I just fall asleep on a mattress constructed of squeaky, rough springs. But it was not the biggest problem I had. I did smoke a cigarette after talking to the guard. I remembered doing it, and I still had my marbles intact. But there was no sign of a cigarette ash or it to be lying around half-burnt. My cigarette just vanished. Instead, the room was full of an odorless smoke.
It hung in the air in fluffy pouches, like clouds in heaven, the things where angels usually hang around. A largish window with a metal grill was open, but the clouds didn’t move even with draft. I had never seen anything like it.
I felt my head. It was empty, the thoughts vacated the premises, especially the sensible once. It occurred to me I might have slept for a year and everybody had forgotten about me being locked-up. But I didn’t like the clouds. They looked nothing like cigarette smoke as I’ve remembered it. I lay on the mattress and though
