Crumbling concrete structures casting long shadows across desolate streets, thick patches of purplish lichen adorning the still-standing walls. Faded, furtive figures cluster together away from the light of the too-bright sun, yellow eyes staring at me as I walk steadily south down the double-yellow lines on the cracked asphalt. I look east toward the place where the beach was, and the glare of the dawn grows brighter until my vision flares into a field of white.

I grope for a moment beside the bed, muscles grumbling. Glasses, lamp, phone. It's 6:15. I could still go back, but not this morning. The apocalyptic vistas remain for a while, double-exposed over the towering heaps of books and laundry; eventually they fade back into the background, visible if I look for them.