i knew as i fell asleep last night listening to the sound of tires shrieking against pavement, and the inevitable, gut turning "WHOMP" and the blasting tinkle of bursting glass afterwards, and then the sirens and crying, that i would dream something strange. it's always strange when leon isn't beside me in bed while i drift off. and it was strange. in it, i was in a bar, and met philip seymour hoffman, and we fell in love. and i went to his house with him, after some drinks, and it was a little crappy mobile home in a vacant lot surrounded by gravel. and i fell across his messy, man-smelling bed and he worshipped me and i loved him intensely and with all my heart. then a gang of teenaged boys ran through the vacant lot, coming for us, to destroy and burn what we had built in the few drunken hours we'd known one another. philip handed me a sword and we fought and killed them all. severed heads and limbs. dragging bodies into the underbrush. hosing blood off our clotheshandsshoes. wondering how we would ever get away with it. and then the sick realization that i couldn't stay with my love. that i had to leave philip to go home to leon and my children. and he cried and touched my cheek and told me he'd never willingly let me go.

somehow, i ended up back at his home several days later, in the daylight, with his sister and friends. he was missing but nothing in his house was gone with him. everyone wanted to know who i was, if i had anything to do with the dead bodies of teenaged boys they'd found buried in the gravel, why i had been there at all, why i brought my big purple-y/brown bowling ball with me that day. it was because philip had told me we were going to go to the ten pin one day, together, when i was ready to be with him.