What did a woman really mean when all you can remember is what it's like inside? Not her face, not her voice, nothing that defined her exteriorly. Just a vague pressing on the legs when waking up suddenly. She had to have been more important. I mean, I'm disgusted with myself! A voluminous catalogue cries to be browsed, But the most luminous dialogue creeps in unnanounced. When chemicals were realeased and electric pulses clung to the night. Spindles of fibres flicked to life at a simple switch. Staples or shackles seemed to bind me down. But I liked it!