“I had a dream last night, Blondie, sleeping in the booth at the VFW. I dreamt I was walking in a scorched field. The morning after an inferno. The ground was still hot and smoldering. Everything was dead. The grasses and the flowers, even the wild growing weeds-the weeds Juan loved so much-were burned and dead. No birds or bugs or rabbits or snakes. Everything was shriveled and blackened and gone.”

“Some sharp sticks, still warm from the fire, rubbed against my bare legs and cut them. The blood flow felt right and good. I dreamed I let it all bleed out.”

“I was frantic, ignoring my blood, searching for my ax, I’d dropped it in the darkness the night before.”

“In the blinding brightness of a high July sun, not a shade tree for miles. I realized I lost my need to find my ax. There was nothing left for me to destroy…”

The Blonde stays on the line, silent…