Dante shot an echo, detailed a composition of natural noise to compare against the cold air and sulfur stench, perfuming his surroundings. But without a standard from which to build experienced recognition his brain abandoned memories and in its place deciphered from what he’d read off the internet to mesh the details and give the place a name. “I’m in Hell.” He said.
Mortal Coil is a water slide, flecks of water, spill off the edge and pattern the air in loose drops considered as one but deserving of individual names.
Bankruptcy: to give abandonment and reabsorption to the womb.
Credit: agreed upon standard for reality.
Interest: placing two mirrors on opposite ends of the room, insisting the reflection stops somewhere.
Inflation: to count the grains of sand composing the Praia do Cassino.
Dante searched his pockets for a source of light and discovered a packet of matches. He ignited a match and in the orange glow discovered more darkness. He shivered. “I thought Hell was hot?” He questioned.