Of all the places I have been happy in and I've been happy in a lot of places the happiest of all was Henrietta Street, #6, top floor. I was happy on the second floor too, Mick Cullen's studio, very happy there, which was odd, seeing as I was so unhappy. This was an old house and a lot of people had lived in it, of all classes, though on my floor only one. That I could be happy or unhappy in itself defeats logic, considering my difficulty in grasping the historicity of the thousands of people who had lived there since the house was built circa 1726. Last night I dreamt that I was in Henrietta Street again and found the stairway blocked beyond the second floor. A huge hole was blasted in Mick Cullen's studio. As in all my dreams the studio was expansive, even infinite, but in this dream there was a foreground too, featuring passionate love, to which I was briefly, obliquely, witness.
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