“Now you are awake, it is still a dream. Let me ask you, who knows the difference?” That’s what it said. In pencil. Folded once. Left by my head in Hove Library. I don’t know who wrote it. I don’t know what they meant. Maybe they didn’t mean anything. Maybe they were bored. Maybe they worked there. Maybe they never existed. They’re closing the libraries now. Or reducing the hours. Which is what you say when you want to kill something slowly enough to call it care. I was 14. A