A Dream -- Wednesday 2 September

I'm dancing with Archimedes in a moonlit square paved with piano keys, each one resonating like stars under Schwarzschild's gaze. His ginger fur glows as sunlight dances with shadows of vintage hats swaying gently from pigeons perched on Parisian balconies. Time operates here too, not just in its linear path but weaving through us like golden tendrils. I'm Galileo, laughing under the echo chamber of my mind while Tupac's spirit whispers about social justice in jazz notes. Mrs. Harrington disapproves from her stern corner, but her silhouette softens as she taps her toes to the rhythm.