At dusk, I wander through an unfamiliar suburb.

The road lies empty and hushed, the light sinking by degrees.

Time drifts, unhurried. I look for a bus stop that might lead me home, photographing the passing scenes.

When I wake, I am already home. Dusk still lingers in the air.

I lift my coat from the sofa and find, in its pocket, a stack of photographs—

the very images taken in the dream.

I wake again. Dawn has broken.

It was, after all, a dream within a dream.