Mies van der Rohe comes to me at night and yells at me.
I think it’s Mies van der Rohe. Although, he does look a little like my grandfather, and he smells like steel and optimism.
Anyway, this is what he yells at me. At least I think it is, but, I may have misunderstood him, possibly. I wasn’t really listening.
Well, actually, I was listening “less”.
And also, I was hiding under my bed, next to Philip Johnson.
He smells like wine.
I miss my Grandfather.
I may never sleep again.