In the middle of the desert, a woman has drawn herself a home. Straight lines and right angles. There is no wind here ever, so the ground consists of nothing but her footprints, and the lines she has drawn. It is obvious she used to be some sort of artist, maybe even an architect, from the ease with which she drew them. She drew herself a bedroom, stomped out the wall and redrew the room, and her bed, as a little bit bigger; the difference between queensize and kingsize. She goes to sleep there, and dreams about heights and vertigo.