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When the sun hit my eyes the next morning, I woke from a sleep so deep that it took me a minute to remember where I was. I’d been dreaming about John Green’s dog Willie and the pack of pups that my friends and I had. They were a dog-scooter team, and they were in the competition for the state title. Mayhem was the lead dog, and Taco was the mascot, his legs being too short to actually run with the pack. In my dream they were just about to start the race when a green slime monster carrying a giant needle had charged into the crowd. Fortunately, Santa had stepped out to save the day, and the team went on to win the race.
It was one of those dreams that felt like it should have made me happy but actually just haunted my first minutes awake with a sense of foreboding. As I showered and op
