All of this is really confusing. The two stories unfold like perfect dreams. Not a single decision is obvious. In terms of critical analysis, I feel like I have completely failed – the writers have accessed a higher plane, from which they can manipulate their personal mythologies, and I have no access to it. They do it all so effectively that I wonder if they could remember, afterwards, what happened and what didn’t. In My Winnipeg, the sleepwalking citizens carry keys to each of their past homes, and to the past homes of each of their sweethearts. I’m not sure where I’m going with that.