Dreams of Colombian drug lords and Japanese businessmen and geisha girls, and the murders of all of them. Things are a little weird, you might say. There’s a mystery lurking in the background, and I’m trying to figure it out. Something’s amiss, the clues are there, I just haven’t had the chance to put them together. I feel like I’m writing the same thing over and over, and nothing is sinking in. I just don’t get it, I guess. I don’t know why I’m here, not there. I don’t know what it is that I’m waiting for. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do until it finds me. I don’t know so much that it’s hurting me. I can see all the things that I don’t know. I can see where the missing pieces are supposed to be, but I have no idea what to do with the pieces that I have. I can’t answer those questions, I can’t tell you which questions I have answered, and I can’t tell you what questions remain to be asked. I know you want to know the answer to that question, but I can’t help you with that… I’m sorry.
That question, the one you asked me in that dream.