As I sleep, the shirts and trousers put up in hangers in my wardrobe come to life. Well, they do not come to life. Something comes to life within them. Sometimes I see hands and feet dangling out of the garments, so that it feels as if people have been hanged in my room.

I cannot help thinking how I am not entirely alone. And when I put on a different t-shirt or a boxer, it seems that I am actually borrowing something from someone who has been hanged in my room.

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