In a dream, up from under, I have prepared for the main part in a play. But, unaccountably, I stay away from opening night. Was there an understudy? Later that week the cast show up. Where did I get to? In analysis I start crying, why did I let everyone down? There’s no U-turn. It cannot be undone. The analyst makes noises. But I keep thinking, who am I? What is You? I should never have gone into acting. Outside is September. There’s a festival. Hilly streets are inundated with unending traffic. A child appears to tell me everything’s fine.