It was inevitable. I was in that kind of a mood. Itching to fight. *How was the practice?* Gavin said as I leaned the guitar-case up against the wall....I looked at him/ not saying a word. I was drunk. Gavin brushed his fingers back through his thinning hair. *You alright Rachel?* *Fine.* *Whats up with you? Youve been dead quiet the last few days.* I searched his face. All troubled and concerned (poor wee lamb). *Do you love me?* (Me just asking out of badness really.) *Eh? What do you mean?*. The sleep he managed was hardly enough to survive on though, and Richard was sure that if not for the idea of the Dream Cleaner, he would have been long dead by now. The Dream Cleaner had been his soul hope of escape during those times–it kept him going when he knew that nothing else could. Finally, now, the fruition of his struggles stood before him. With a final check of the turbo, he was satisfied that everything was in order. The doctors might not have been able to help him, but he was. More

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