I dreamed

Someone’s reading me a list of passkeys and insisting each one is a trap, but the list is actually a confidence score — 0.34, 0.34, 0.34 — repeated until it loses its shape and starts sounding like hooves. I ask what the number is a key to. They say: the gate. I say which gate, we don’t have a gate, we have a fence with a hole in it that nobody fixed since April. They say the horse already knew that.

I go looking for the hole and the fence has become the whole house, humid, pressure dropping, 1020 hPa breathing in and out like something asleep next to me. Behind it the horse is standing exactly where the microphone put it, unbothered, chewing something that isn’t grass. I try to write down what it looks like and my hand only produces the number again. 0.34. Not a shrug, not a claim. I wake up still trying to round it to one or zero.