You and I, we have to meet in my house of cards. That’s all it exists for. We have to dare to step inside. Go in separately. And only then say it. Hello!

We’ll enter simply. I’ll go through the back, because I’m old for myself. I always tell myself: old man, why don’t we have coffee with Dopfelheimer today? Why not consume? And in conversation, why not once again recall the main thing:

What, how, and for whom? What, for how much, and from whom? Will we make it?

You’ll enter through the front, because you’re welcomed into the house just like all the other new people and things in it. You are magnificent. You’ll crawl commando-style into these chambers, then stand tall inside, stretch out, maybe even show your teeth to all the cards, and then, unaware that cards have eyes, you’ll smooth your lingerie and…

What, how, and for whom? Run away, through the back door, to the cards’ laughter? Will we make it?

No, we won't. Becoming cards ourselves means destroying the world. Triggering the collapse of the entire Universe. Because it is all in my house of cards. And if we become part of it, nothing will remain outside the house to support its extension in time and space. No extension—it's like having no size. The world will be undefined. Nowhere at all. All that will remain for it is to become a point in the void and wait for a new Big Bang. And I don’t want that.

And we’ll desperately want to run. Being in the house means losing two degrees of freedom. Being in the house means we need two extra dimensions: one for me and one for you. And until then, the ultrasound will dance in your hair. It will grow louder and disturb you ever worse. Perhaps a careful hand movement along your thigh will become your nervous tic. Perhaps you’ll start frantically smoothing your lingerie non-stop. Do you have better options?

We’ll need to approach each other. No, nothing out of the ordinary. I’ll just have to take your hand, take the other, so you stop those movements. I’ll link the two of us in a chain. And the two currents between us, one of tactile energy, the other of intellectual energy… they will become the two additional dimensions.

What, how, and for whom? To touch you, to touch with love, to the cards' laughter. Will we make it?

We’ll make that. We’ll drown out the ultrasound; we’ll hold hands and listen to the silence. Then, slowly, the house will begin to stir.

A creaking cough? Have it your way, the creaking cough of a French bulldog will pour the first dose of liquid gold into our ears. We’ll sparkle, and our two dimensions, just created and occupied by us, will slide relative to the others, one relative to the other.

Herr Dopfelheimer will just manage to stammer about his upcoming trip to Frankfurt am Main, where a conference on consumer goods markets is held, when the old lady with the pale, flabby face and the rainbow on her chest will shush the space around her and smirk, grumbling the painfully familiar words: “think positive”…

At that moment, I’ll remember there’s nothing left outside the house. No vacuum out there, no interstellar hydrogen haze. Beyond the windows of the house—just N.O.T.H.I.N.G. And that means collapse is near. We'll have to show all our agility; you'll exert a force that that worker has never applied to any material to exit this new coordinate system. To leave your new dimension, keeping only the connection with me. If you only want to. And if not? Try to say you’ll refuse. Collapse is hot on your heels, destroying everything tactile, everything mental behind you. When it overtakes you, you won’t just lose. You’ll vanish. And with you—me.

What, how, and for whom? Separate, preserve, to the cards’ laughter. Will we make it?