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.

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I may never sleep again.