The writing not only addresses the scene of an emotional blizzard, it enacts its very chaos. We are left with a sense of acidic tenderness - the feeling that we have witnessed a tableau of exquisite dysfunction. This is not a tale of a love gone mad, but of the madness 6f love itself.

The man has actually come to tell his lover that he wants to leave her, but as soon as he walks in he realises he won't be able to tell her. The woman rolls a joint.

They smoke it. And as they drift into another state of mind, he approaches the border zones between being and nonbeing, between living and imagining. Or is it between life and death？