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.

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