On the fourth night, the old professor said we couldn't get out. I looked out the window and saw that my husband-in-law's three-dimensional body was pressed into a large flat piece of paper, soaked in the dark green muddy swamp, so close that I could not rest in peace.
The sixth night, the uncontrollable TV.
On the eighth night, the fat woman grinned, and I, half naked, danced.
On the tenth night, his eyeballs were bulging, and the insides were turbid and filled with fluid similar to what an insect would exude after death. The outsides were as vulnerable as blisters.