I smell Kovac’s scent, or is it Broc’s? Or am I dreaming? And the rumbling under me, inside my crotch, is just the Orient Express thundering at high velocity toward and ; and any second I’ll awaken and the nightmare will have only been a dream. My film crew will jostle me from the deepest sleep of my life and tell me it’s time to get on filming the next segment of the trip.
Whose eyes will I see when I awaken? What incarnation will I be living? Have I shifted shapes? Am I that other person in the dream? Past and present collide, confused behind this blindfold, and for a moment—or several moments, I sink into the unconscious void of complete surrender.
