. . .What sort of a sick brain could think that a humble worker would try to profit from people's pain?‖ asked Hector. ―I really think you should talk this over with your therapist. In the dream, I decided to even out the competition so that my mother would not be in the lowest percentile, pebble-wise. But I got lost and could not find her grave, although I walked up down among the gravestones. I wondered if my mother, annoyed at my infrequent visits, had decided to move house, leaving no return address. In desperation, I reluctantly enrolled the gravedigger in my search in spite of his persistent grin, which seemed to suggest thatsome people visit their loved ones so seldom that they forget even the whereabouts of their graves. I finally apologized to Elena in my mind. ―If I have not visited you more often, it's because it still hurts to know that you are dead,‖ I said under my breath. As is the way in dreams, I found the grave immediately. ―You mustn't forget to write about ho. . . Read More