My youngest daughter had an accident. I'm in a house, our home, and go outside. There I meet V. and another flatmate I don't know. There are white stones on a wall that are turning to powder. Further back, I see a club on top of a building. V. says that it's hip now. Even Ryan Gosling has already been there. I say that if he's there, I'm not going, meaning that he's so cool and beautiful that I don't stand a chance next to him. It takes A. a while to get the joke. But then he thinks I'm cool. I think I could go to that club next time with A. I look up and see a sign on V.’s balcony with a pigeon and a crossed-out gun. He says that the middle pigeons are to be killed now too. ‘How?’ I ask. My wife comes in briefly. We go inside. Our daughter is going to die. She's already in a coma. I realise how terrible this is. I think about how her school things will remain and the pain that comes with them no longer being needed. She will die. The pain is too strong. I briefly wonder if I could bring her out of her coma with positive thoughts and save her. My wife comes into the bedroom. The pain is too strong. I call her. She sleeps next to me. Our daughter is going to die.