Time and space fell into oblivion. The sleeper slipped into unconsciousness. He found himself again, outstretched on the bed and alone, but the air no longer had the same sour sent. A fresh coat of paint and the gentle sting of new carpet touched his nose.

He opened his eyes. His heart ached, his head pounded. A knock on the door echoed off the walls of the room. It was the same room from the night before but a newer version of it. The original, he thought as he rolled out of bed.

He opened the door a sliver. A clean-cut man, with black slicked-back hair, in a white suit stood watching the elevator. He turned back toward the door. “Hey Joe, let’s go. Tony says we meet at the bar.”

“Tony?”

“Come on, ‘Tony the Ant’? The Tony that’s gonna beat ya skull in if you ain’t down there in five. That Tony!”

Joseph Blasko, he told himself. “I’m the lookout.”

“Yea, Deputy Dawg. You’re the lookout. Now, can we go already?”

“I’ll be right there,” he said as he shut the door. “I am there,” he sighed. “I’m here.”