I get up from the floor about two hours later. It’s like my body is a puppet. I wonder which side of me, the demon or the human, is the one that wants me to go to the gallery and is forcing me up. It’s one of them, while the other drags her feet. I pack my rucksack with the few belongings I have. I put some cash in my sock just in case my rucksack gets lost somehow too. I cover my exposed skin in sunscreen. And then I leave. On my way out, I check the post situation in the building. There aren’t doorbells for the studios, which might make it a bit difficult for the dried blood I’ve ordered to be delivered tomorrow. There’s just a communal mailbox outside, which is like a cubbyhole that doesn’t have a lock or anything and has a door that just kind of swings open and closed in the wind.

I arrive at the Otter and the front door is closed and there is no one to let me in. This is what I always fear about arriving at new places. Being stuck outside. I stand as close to the wall as possible so I’m in shade. I knock on the door. I knock firmly but not too loudly, because I don’t want to seem crazy. I look at the wall around the door. There’s no buzzer.