The Enemy of the Good (eideteker) wrote,
The Enemy of the Good

Beneath, Between, Behind

My dreams are definitely more interesting when I sleep with my head to the west. It's not just the Urban Assault RV we took on our search to locate Ayn Rand. It's not the fact that we found her, living amongst the rats in the New York City sewer system. I think a lot of it may have been that I was just barely able to hold Drew Carey before my alarm went off, and to cry with him as we watched his mother, who had been like a mother to me for at least five minutes of dream time, bleed the last of her blood.

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