Tobacco tar walls,
Resin ceiling,
Dun carpet floor –
all receding –
creased receding
to the elevator door –
and the doors –
the doors – the endless
doors repeating.
I drop a penny.
I squat but it’s tails.
I look up at a girl
looking up.
Her hair is black,
tangled comely.
She has a chocolate smear
on her right cheek,
Her uncertain teeth
bared in child’s
glee and caked with it.
She wears a mustard
blouse stained canary
and her pants are
frayed at the ankles.
Her eyelids are ticking,
ticking the flickered fluorescent.
She says,
“These lights turn everything yellow,
that’s why nobody picks a bad penny,
and that lift only goes down.”
She says her name is Mara,
says “Mara will be around.”
Sweet and Bitter Greens 
Priceless. Tarnished and gorgeous, like a trick or treat – and the colour scheme horrendous. So much to like – impressive and unique in style. I hate you.
Thanks, Ray. It was an unsettling dream and I hope never to meet her again. D