11 August 9 Cairo Bea flew awake in a sweat, gasping, crying. Alice got up from her bed and walked two steps in their tiny room, and held her. Bad one? Shitting hell. A lucid one at that, clear as a glass, vividly colored. Alice cracked opened the shanasheel window. Lets get you some air. She looked out past the palmed inner courtyard of the modest hotel where many female personnel were billeted. In the street she spied him and inhaled. Its him again, gods what a heavenly smell. Bea inhaled the scented air. The simply adorable and talented chicken man with his fresh bread. Maybe for a snackie. She then gagged. I tried to stop you after the tenth whiskey, but you said you needed it for… medicinal purposes. Alice helped her to the sink, steadying Bea while she puked, rolling her eyes. Oh yes, a bad one, that dream. Do tell mommy, good for your soul n all. Bea slid down the tiled wall to the floor, underwear askew, moist all over. She fidgeted her breast wound, now healed. Hate being a ruddy-fuddy Light Warrior, the mystics say you fight the darkness by day and then by night in your dreams in the dreary olAstral world. Fairly exhausting, I might add. No extra pay given. Tough. The local universe is calling, and all of us must answer the duty call. Alice lifted her paper-thin nightgown. Well? Im on the pot with nothing but time on my hands. W-e- a-v-e thy tale of existential woe, beastly Boudicca. Filthy cow, always mocking my battle fatigue by degrees of insults. You do not have battle fatigue, its good old-fashioned shell shock. Youll live. Now tell us your dreamy dream. She reached for her purse and lit a bent fag from a crumpled pack of Lucky