The Fogged Mirror

On the wall above, mounted like the taxidermied head of a bull moose, is a toilet.

The brightly-coloured cans and cigarette packets seem even more vivid upon your return.

You find yourself staring at the much improved television screen. The intricacies of pelota continue to elude you.

"Let me know if you want another."

"Still good over there?"

"I'm familiar."

It's still almost impossible to make out the action on-screen.

Tiny figures jog across the screen, lobbing the hard pelota ball back and forth.

You stare into the purple haze. Figures shift and ripple under discoloured static -- fish below the surface of a vast, unknowable electronic sea.