Our house blew away in a storm. It took hours. Waking, I’d been asleep ten minutes. The agency causing this is a mystery. Daily I think of the National Security Agency. I send them my dreams. We all do. Who reads them? K. lived behind a letter. He headed a page: “April…” Words came, or they didn’t. He satirised Habsburg bureaucrats. He didn’t need neurosis. He knew their agencies watched him. After writing hundreds of pages he instructed his friends to destroy them. Why? No one can be trusted. K. has a museum in Prague. It hasn’t blown away yet.