In a glasshouse.

The smoke plumed in thick swirls as the last of the weed burnt quietly. She tried not to inhale too deeply, not knowing what it would do. The smell swam around her as she sat hunched forward on the chair, holding a half-full black bin bag. She hated making decisions. She found she could put most things off until they resolved themselves or her hands were tied, for better or for worse. This choice, though, was the hardest by far. It was about belief, about who she was, about the past and the future and where, in all likelihood, the only true consequences would be up here, in her baffling brain.

Her old world was almost gone; she never knew how much it could alter. The earth used to be flat, a hockey puck around which the universe spiralled. This was an undisputed fact, until it wasn't. But the trouble with a changing truth is that, unlike all other types of change, it happens both backwards and forwards in time. The earth did not become round; suddenly, it had been all along. Her old world was the new world and she'd have to try to piece it together again.

The fire had died out by the time she stood up and she flicked through the remains with the toe of her boot. Perhaps she should have emptied the bag onto it too but would that have been for him or for her? She swept up the ashes and put them in a bucket in the greenhouse. There were only 7 tomato plants and a sunflower in there now that she'd destroyed all the marijuana, which was why it'd always seemed so lacking in colour in here, through the dirty glass. Where she had not asked questions, now she had been a fool but surely only a true fool would heap more misery on herself.

Her mind made up, she went out into the round world to spend a dead man's money.