Comes easy, surprisingly. I fall asleep in my recliner that I found on the curb one time. Thinking about the door to Maximum Thought. Thinking about the Chrysler building. Thinking about what the others could be doing, but knowing- or believing- that my intentionality here is helping somehow.
   In my dream, I’m an architect of delis. The best in the world, so the magazines say. I’m giving my speech at this architectural convention- but it’s also a Nobel Prize, and I’m accepting this award for outstanding achievements and shit. And at the end of the speech as everyone’s cheering I raise the trophy and announce my retirement from the craft.
   The crowd gasps and silence falls over the hall. One guy starts yelling at me. Other people start throwing shit at me. Hermes, who was in the crowd I suppose, comes on stage and shoots me in the chest. As I’m on the ground, the Jawbreakers from the graveyard come on stage and start shooting me as well.
   Jolt awake. Job done.

   Nothing’s changed about my apartment save for the fact that one of my 3 locks, the chain lock, has been undone. After looking further into it, I’m positive no one came in- the other 2 locks would have stopped them- but someone definitely tried to get in, undoing the chain with a ruler from the other side or something. But maybe I’m just paranoid.
   I open my door to look around more. There’s a stomped out cigarette right outside the door. The Jawbreakers. I think.
   What if it’s already too late again? What if they already have me? No, they couldn’t, or else they’d already have taken me in. But they’re definitely looking for something. Unless it’s all in my head, of course. It could always all be in my head. But if the disks aren’t glitched, then I should be fine, right?
   I figure: fuck this. I hate this waiting around and I hate this feeling in my gut. I’m calling a meeting.