Both stories took place in the same dream and in the same street. In the dream the sunlight pervaded both stories, and the sunlight was perfect. The bath in the first short story was perfect. The sides were white and shiny, with no trace of limescale. It was so perfect that a man would not be able to climb out of it: a perfect bath shows up our human imperfections. A man in a perfect bath is like a spider. Also in this dream the shop window where the bath stood was perfect. Perfect glass is perfectly transparent, but you know it is there. The light reflects off it in a singular way, only found in dreams.
I was not present in the first part of the dream or in the first story.
In the second story the light was perfect and the glass was perfect, but someone had knocked over the plants. This was what I had been dreading: I knew it would make me forget the first story. The plants were in the front garden - they had been perfect tomato plants, but only one of them was left standing. I thought this was an imperfection, and I thought that because of the imperfection I would remember the second perfect story perfectly, but this wasn't the case.
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