Drunk off the Korean liquor, I swam into bed, stretched into a crucifixion pose. There I spun, floated into the mouth of sleep.

Soon I dreamt I was back at college, holding a stack of Bibles. I was heavy as the weight of a planet, but my soul was like dust, my soul dispersing, in a trillion mites, moving through a blustery passage of autumnal air.

My bald head felt like a solar panel, collecting courage in golden shine.

Milky clouds parted and a fire red sun hovered forth, over the horizon, and its heat rose in ripples, sizzled the sidewalk, shifted the season.

I was sweating. And I was searching. For the library. Everywhere. I wandered and wandered. My feet were claws. I was a cognoscenti with an invisible gun to my head. I was a knife to a toddler’s neck, an intruder in an Armani suicide suit.

I was diffident and chimerical. I was a belly-dancer making a declaration of war.

Stalking the mysteriously vast, verdant campus, the campus seemed ancient yet novel. It was a complicated system of bushes, trees, flowers, and glass buildings. It was a matrix, a whole new world. A world bigger and weirder and far more fragrant than I remember it. Almost every building had been reshaped, remodeled. Once gray and square, the structures were now clear as freshwater and either triangular as pyramids or tubular as penises. Everything was towering stacks of glass.

It was as if the college had been destroyed and rebuilt by gay aliens. Freudian flashers. Or extraterrestrial Egyptians with Napoleon complexes.

The students on campus all looked so young. Many were in grizzly bear suits; some were in bikinis, and were girls going wild, twerking and dancing like strippers as they pranced about the college. And many egg-shaped bodies were wearing VR goggles, and a ziggy zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz-zooming by on neon-flashing hoverboards.

An aboriginal tribesman, in only a loincloth, his body painted bright bold colors, held a sharp wooden spear, and darted through the campus. He was chasing a cheetah creature. The cheetah bolted by, its mouth frothing. I was amazed at how adroitly it maneuvered through the masses. And the smile twisting at its lips displayed admirable mirth.

It dawned on me, like a lightning bolt, like God’s command, that I should be looking elsewhere for the library. But where? In the eyes of the masses, I still was only a fairy. A face for the toilet. A cockroach on hindlegs. Dead as wood.

Worse yet, I was an iconoclast. I’d violated the sacred library covenant. Flicking my gaze at the Bibles, at their yellowish pages, I couldn’t believe I’d kept them for so long.

Passing by a young, petite nun, with rotted teeth and the body of a goat, I saw the nun’s upper lip curling in the hush of the wind. In her tiny hands, she clutched and displayed, over her chest, a handwritten sign asking for Jesus money because her cat was starving.

About to slip her $20, I asked her if she smoked crack. She said no. She said she didn’t even smoke weed. I told her she should smoke weed, passed her the $20, and politely suggested she talk to Jesus about learning coding or robotics.

Around and around and around I went. My footsteps were in hieroglyphic patterns. Every path I cut through the campus led me elsewhere. None led to the library.

I saw the shiny triangular football stadium. I saw a pyramid pavilion. A carrot-shaped gazebo. But still no fucking library.

Then I trudged by a shivering longnecked slender man in a ski mask and silver wetsuit. His legs looked far too long for his frame. He was playing “Hangar 18” by Megadeth on a set of bagpipes as he stood defiantly in front of the sprawling flying saucer cafeteria that had an assortment of dining options way superior to when I attended the school, only 15 years prior. (Dammit, sometimes I’d skateboard a mile in the snow to get fresh, hot donuts! You ever skateboard in the snow? DON’T EVEN FUCKING TRY!)