On Sunday night at 8:15 pm I woke up in the back of a car, blinked, and saw the the lights of St-Leonard off the Metropolitain.

At 7:45pm I fell asleep speeding south out of the mountains.

Before that there was no time, just sun and clouds, and blackberries hot from the sun falling into my mouth, and water. Mountains all around. And up the hill a fire and some slow jazz, and people I didn’t know last week, but who cares, really, if there is no time you are always a part of someone else’s story. Today, or yesterday, or next week. For a while. And then you are not, and you blink and see the lights, and see that even if everything is changed you are still sleeping in your own skin, wherever that might be.