...Kerouac floated above me, smiling absurdly as he pulled a fresh pack of Lucky's from the rolled-up sleeve of his white tee.

"Crazy scene, man," he said, snapping his fingers. "Dig it, Bird becoming 'one' with his sax before the discovery of navel lint. Naval jelly on the hoe handle of life, gripping unhurriedly the remains of the day. They were all there - lined up like dead soldiers waiting for a handout: 'Brother, can you spare a damn?'" He took a long pull from his uncapped bottle of Thunderbird and lit his cigarette. I could smell lighter fluid. Suddenly he was wearing dark glasses and a beret. I was sitting at a table with him in a smokey cafe.

"My Blues," he continued, "lives in a sleazy little flat in the heart of Sodom, on a night so second-skin close even the pushers and flesh peddlers seek respite elsewhere. My Blues wanders the blighted, urban streets at 3 in the morning, past the rusted carcass of a 1963 Chrysler Imperial, tail fins cocked high into the murky ether. My Blues stumbles into an after hours bar, perches himself on the last bar stool and says to the bartender, 'by any other name, sweet smell of success, four-in-the-corner, neat.'" Kerouac leans into me. "Now, what sound track should I play for My Blues?" he asks. He waits for me to answer. I move my mouth but no sound comes out. My tongue feels as if it's made of kevlar. Kerouac leans back, obviously pleased with himself, and exudes a mushroom cloud of smoke.

"But hark!" he says, his body tensing. "I surmise you yourself have questions." He scrutinizes me. "Yes, yes," he says knowingly, "the secret,the secret, is in the sauce, daddy-o. The cops saw only through doughnut eyes. Something they missed."

He began to float back into the wall, which had begun to dissolve into a shimmering pool of light. "Rationality is a one trick pony," he called, "but when you're good and crazy, the sky's the limit!" And then strains of "Sneakin' Godzilla Through The Alley" began playing in my ears. Not the kind of heavy handed guitar work I wanted to hear upon coming to. But what the hey. I was glad to be waking up at all. I seemed to be all in one piece. No bullet holes seeping precious bodily fluids, good sign. I was still not fully awake, and I desperately needed a drink. But what was I to make of that ridiculous dream?