A boy is standing in front of my old school. I am supposed to find out why he is so aggressive. I listen to him. It becomes clear to me that he is homosexual and cannot accept the love he feels inside. I set off on my racing bike. There is snow on the ground and I am afraid of slipping. I have less than half an hour and need to hurry. I see man; he has been fighting and his face is swollen. The boy's therapist is standing in front of the school. She doesn't understand the boy.

I am standing in the kitchen of my childhood home, cooking. Minibuses are parked in the driveway. I move slowly. People are making fun of me. I realise that I have forgotten to put the food in the pan.

A doctor examines me. I see my inflamed navel large in front of me. The doctor smells it and grimaces. I tell him that my navel has been inflamed since childhood. He says that a cure would be pointless now, that it's too late. He puts a blanket over my head so that I can sleep. I then sit back to back with someone else. Should I satisfy him? I could do it. Instead, we both move back and forth rhythmically. There are targets standing some distance away. I throw a ball over them and it lands behind the highest number that the other person had already hit. It's just too late.