No. 67
May 1971

The stolen letter

I think I have woken up. There are lots of maids in my room. But is it really my room?

I’m by a body of water. To cross it, I take a footbridge that becomes a suspension bridge over the Seine. At the middle I see the date 1953.

Someone has stolen the letter I had in my pocket.

I am running a sprint with a black woman.