In the morning, the sheets roll off me, into the wall. A geode half descends over me, and slides across the bed until I fall into the second half, and it claps shut. I am sufficiently awake when the shaken geode detects no tumbling, which means I have stuck to the inner wall. Then the pulsating lights of the various crystal formations communicate lavish visions of dubious realism. My reactions are tested against recorded dreams and previous days’ patterns.

If cognition is deemed too anomalous, vibrations drain all fluids and grind down tissue and bones, and I am immediately deposited back into my bed, which has a person-shaped recess to facilitate my later reconstitution by machinery that comes out of the wall. If my perceptions are to spec, then I am allowed to pilot the geode, and meet other dividuals in the make- or spend-place. Often I commit make-time in the spend-place. I do not have the privilege of pulling spend-time in the make-place yet.