in valentin's head, then fades away into static—he's with patti, sitting in a field of cut grass in the sun, she's leaning back on her hands smiling with sun lightheat hitting her face, their hands touching, she's talking about something, a tv show she's been watching, she laughs of it, while saying she's happy she turns to him to kiss him, he kisses her, patti says, you'll be ok we'll be ok—valentin wakes to thunder that bounces off the highways above him, no sun completely blocked, flashes from lightning pulses, he waits for a clap of thunder again but it doesn't come, there's shuffling somewhere, a person moving, he's sitting propped up against maybe a cardboard box, his head hurts too much to turn around—he checks for his phone but it's not in his pocket, he stands and loses balance and falls on his side, he calls for rene the last thing he remembers talking to her about the success of the day—fearing another fall if he tries to stand, he lies on the ground eyes shut assessing, either this is death or it's an escape— a hand from behind a damp cloth is laid on his head, the hand of calluses scratches over his forehead, like once when he was a child riding a skateboard he fell trying to make a turn on the sidewalk, his head hit the cement, no helmet, and trudie riding her bike found him and caressed his forehead—the woman he can't see says, who are you?—the voice rumbles, burdened—a different version of her voice but he has little doubt that it's trudie, he says her name and turns his head to see her, but it hurts too much, he fails—the hand disappears and valentin hears footsteps or no, the roar of the trucks overhead overwhelm, he needs to stand and find his way, be thankful that he's alive, if in fact he is, brush himself off and continue to his hotel—no matter if he falls on his ass he can't stay here in this danger so he lifts himself and his mind spins, his heart too, he looks left there's the sunlight to the hotel or to the right back to patti's neighborhood fine either way at this point, both an escape—it's not working though, the spinning, and he hears the voice again, who are you?—he responds, trudie is it you? he falls on his arm—he tries to lift himself, the woman says, you won't stop will you? lay down, you'll knock yourself out standing—smart enough, clever enough, dumb enough—valentin says, i know who you are—the woman laughs her callus hands sharp stragglers of dried skin slip under his back shirt, the hand rubs scratches his back—she says, maybe i'm the underpass witch—cackle, cackle—he wants to turn and belt her one with the back of his tired hand, but he'd just get to spinning and fall again, and she'd have another move, a witch's underpass spell— but the hand massages his back, what he needs—he says, i think trudie you know why i'm here—she murmurs, old woman—trudie says, you know we've always found ourselves most compatible with each other—valentin says, we need to talk—she says, of what, your new life?—yes, my new life—it's a good place, isn't it valentin? you've met someone new?—i've met a lot of new, the things are old but the people are new—she says, or the reverse sometimes—valentin lays more completely on the cement surface of the sidewalk belly and face down, his sister still massaging his back, lightning and the thunder have stopped but the rain falls harder, too dangerous to walk back to the hotel—valentin says, yes of course either way i'm lost, that's why i'm here, looking for you, for your guidance—she says, and i've found you stumbling through my neighborhood—do you live here? did you live with patti and ratan?—valentin already thinks he imagined that visit—she says, i do live here and i did stay with them—and they kicked you out of their house?—of sorts—because of you and ratan?—nothing i didn't deserve, he likes adventure and i gave it to him, but i wasn't one to complain because i had a place to sleep, even with impoliteness, cold, always cold in that house, and that relentless barking and whimpering from that runt of a dog, and so who was i to say while sleeping in their bedroom under their covers on their pillows that i shouldn't wake up to ratan with his hand up my shirt—oh trudie no—don't have pity for me, i find myself in these situations as you have found yourself here, i easily sense danger, but i also know desperation, they kicked me out and look where i am now? am i better off? nobody's got their hands up my shirt but trucks travel on my roof, roaches climb over my face while i sleep, people here fight for bits of sleeping space with knives, but i survive, we both survive don't we?—yes trudie but in different ways, i think i'm in the wrong dimension—trudie says, yes of course you are—her fingers dig deeper into his back muscles, releasing knots and logjams of blood in his veins, they say nothing for a while, valentin sleeps, and when he wakes up, his neck has healed, he turns to finally see her, but she's gone—