I had a dream last night. I was 5 years old. It was summer. There was no air-conditioning in our little bungalow on the small crescent-shaped street in the suburbs of Toronto. And so to cool ourselves, we ran through the freshly hanging sheets on the backyard clotheslines. I had no idea that every one of my neighbors had the same apricot-colored linen that we did. Towels too! It was beautiful; as far as the eye could see, rows and rows of shimmering golden-orange fabric dancing in the light.