The filters were in place. I had made certain of this several times, the dog watching me.
They were in place, good. We were ready to proceed. My palms perspired.
I drew the curtains. The clock on the mantlepiece registered the time as 4:02am.

Birds were beginning to twitter softly; dawn was approaching. The filters were in place.
Would they work? I would have to take it in good faith that they would.
The Christmas lights twinkled on and off. The TV beamed out a meaningless sitcom.
I felt a fierce wind picking up, it ruffled my dressing gown. The room was suddenly very hot. I gasped.
Everything turned white. I was blinded.
I was falling.

Anatomical diagrams were taped to the walls. My friend with the fringe and the tennis shoes was studying them quietly. I waited, feeling self conscious.

What am I being prepared for? I would often ask myself, particularly on grinding overcast afternoons. I might be in the supermarket or in the park with the dog when suddenly I felt on the brink of collapse. I would topple and straddle my befuddled dog or headbutt a shopping trolley.