I am working my way back around to talking about the man who claims to be a doctor.

I am working my way back around to talking about the man who claims to be a doctor, but he upsets me. This morning, for instance, when I dreamed about cannibal zombies, and how I hid during the shoot-out, and how the one cannibal zombie found me and came after me even when I'd put my fingers in his clayey eyes and twisted his clay head off his neck, his flesh impressionable and memorative like fondant frosting, the man who claims to be a doctor said to me that I am everyone in my dreams. I would have settled for being myself in the dream, because after I took the zombie's head off I ran like the wind and vaulted over a five-foot fence, like some happy parcour genius, into the wasteland behind the house. But how could I have been the lumbering zombie chasing me at the same time?