On the old wooden table, a ring of wax candles illuminates the dark. The aromatic smoke we have just exhaled hangs heavy in the air, but when it finally reaches you, you dream upon the Holy Ghost. You curl up onto the cushions, rest several long seconds on your bony back, and imagine the huge abominations preparing you for the duel in which you would play the devil.

Our dreams and hallucinations are shaped in the fire of ambition which burns in our visionary cortex, bright, with a hot sulphuric smell.