I suppose alot of people don't understand these, but yeah - you got to the heart of 'em. Oh, that was a great comment on my "What She Knew" It is true, I just got off parole, and I have one daughter who grew up in "the life" but managed to rise above it. She writes and submits here - Vipersna - I've read your comments to her. It all makes her even stronger.
Anyway - about your Haiku - keep it up!

Who the fuck are you, Radiohead?

---Plum opened the miniature door and stepped inside. He was in
what seemed to be a reception room; against one wall there was
a booth occupied by an obese young man, and ahead of him a wide
corridor quickly turned a corner. The room was small and lamp-
lit; the dim light and yellowed wallpaper, thought Plum, made
it somehow seem underground.
---There were vast piles of coats in every conceivable place.
Space had been cleared in the middle of the room, but Plum had
to step over heaps of dark cloth before he even had enough room
to shut the door. The highest of the coat-towers loomed,
threatening to topple over. In his mind Plum knocked into one
and it came tumbling down, pressing on him and making him
breathe musty air.
---The man, whom Plum thought of as the attendant, was intently
staring at something underneath the counter of the booth and
fidgeting. Perhaps he was playing with a puzzle; at any rate
he did not acknowledge Plum, and he seemed to be holding his
breath.
---“Pardon me,” said Plum. “May I leave my coat here?”
---The attendant frowned, still concentrating on the activity.
After a moment he let out a long rushing sigh, then finally
looked up at Plum, somewhat accusingly.
---“One pays inside. This is the cloakroom.”
---“Yes, I thought it was,” explained Plum. “I wondered whether
I might leave my coat here?” He gestured vaguely at the piles
as if to justify his question.
---The attendant glanced underneath the counter again, then back
at Plum. He seemed to make a calculation. “I'm afraid this room
is full. You'll have to put it in the back.” He jerked his
thumb toward a doorway Plum had not noticed; it was in the
booth's shadow, framed by stacks of coats.
---“A-ha, thank you.” Plum took a step toward the doorway, then
hesitated and looked to the attendant to make sure he had
properly understood. However, the man was again absorbed in his
unknown occupation, and Plum felt that further questions would
somehow provoke him.
---He made his way around the front of the booth, stepping over a
discarded fur. There was a thick wall of coats just inside the
doorway, long enough so that no light escaped underneath them,
and for all Plum knew the next room was completely dark. He
turned sideways and pushed against the mass with his shoulder;
it briefly yielded, but only to swing back and bear down on him.
He had a sudden fear that if he continued to push, it would
simply surround him and he would be unable to move.
---After a final heave, though, he was through, and he found himself
standing in a long, narrow chamber with a low ceiling, lit by an
exposed bulb. Around the perimeter, forming a rounded oblong,
was a high railing, onto which hangers were affixed; the hangers,
of course, bore coats of all sorts. The space between the rails
was not great, but Plum could move comfortably enough, and he
began to look for a free hanger onto which to hang his own
overcoat. However, the coats were very densely packed, and it was
impossible to tell which hangers, if any, were empty. He supposed
he would have to reach blindly into them, though he felt a sinking
reluctance, for no reason he could name.



---Grandfather slept restlessly. He had finished working for today,
or perhaps he had finished yesterday's work and there was no more
for today. It was of course possible that there would never be
more. However, he was prepared; he wore his vest, though it was
not his usual practice to retire clothed. He was glad he wore it;
the vest gave him an excited, nearly sick feeling, and he knew he
could rely on it. And without having to touch it, he knew too his
razor was in its holster, secured to the vest. At times he felt an
unbearable urge to grasp the smooth bone handle and hold it tightly,
but he did not act on it. Once it occurred to him that perhaps he
could not move his hand at all, but he dared not risk trying, in
case he turned out to be right; and since there was no outstanding
work, there seemed no good reason to do so.
---Although he had been sleeping for some time, Grandfather did not
dream. At least he did not remember ever dreaming, though he often
half recalled events, and thinking about a recollection later it
sometimes seemed to have been a dream. Now, though, he knew he was
dreaming, because in his recollections his heart did not beat, and
his hands did not twitch, and he had not seen so clearly in a very
long time. The mucus rose in his throat; it was warm and thick. He
felt an overwhelming anticipation.
---In his dream, Grandfather was surrounded by dark, heavy coats, and
there was work to be done.