The Wabbit looked all around. Then he looked all around again. "How on earth did I get here?" mused the Wabbit. The Wabbit's reflection laughed and laughed. "You're in your unconscious," it said with enormous mirth. "My unconscious is full of gadgets and electrical goods?" queried the Wabbit. "You're a little weird," said his reflection, "but this will do fine for the time being." The Wabbit had a long think. "Why?" he asked finally. "Since you're on this floor, you obviously need to communicate," said his reflection. "Communicate to who?" said the Wabbit in amazement. "Now you sound like an owl," said his reflection. "Anyway, it's
to whom. Whom is the object of the preposition." The Wabbit's unconscious whirled. "OK, I grant you the grammar, just answer the question," he said. "Communicate with yourself," said his reflection emphatically and it squinted at the Wabbit in the glare of the shop lights. "Do I need a phone for that?" said the Wabbit. "If it helps," said his reflection. "There's so much choice, so what colour should it be?" asked the Wabbit. "What's your mood?" asked his reflection. "Blue," said the Wabbit. "Then it's settled," said his reflection. "Now we can go deeper into your unconscious." The Wabbit looked down. "What's there?" he asked. "Washing machines," said his reflection. "Good clean out?" suggested the Wabbit. "And a spin dry," grinned his reflection.
