In my mind, I am banging my forehead slowly against the great, cool beams of the high table at the university. If I do this a couple more times, I will wake up in my bed, and this whole pile of shit will prove to be a dream. Or perhaps I will wake with Augustine’s flank alongside, or with Adeodatus two years old and banging a wooden spoon on a pot lid to attract my attention. Certainly I will wake in my own bed, with nothing more dramatic to do today than buy fresh sage from the market and bottle some surgical alcohol.