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To a Flame

 To a Flame "And are your nightmares affecting your sleep?" the psychiatrist asks and I nod, yes, and say that if he had the same dreams, he'd avoid sleeping, too.  Dr. A raises his eyebrows as though I've said something profound and tells me to try breathing exercises again.  He's a gaunt man, almost to the point of emaciation, and his narrow shoulders are sharp beneath the button down that drapes his body.  As he opens his mouth to speak, his skin draws against his angular face. "You're a science guy, so I know you'll appreciate this.  It's a recent study.  Five minutes of relaxed breathing before bed led to a twenty-five percent increase in REM sleep," he says with a small, sly smile, like he's letting me into his confidence. In reply, I ask again if there's some medication that I can take for the dreams or anxiety. "No, Alex, it's important to treat the disease, not mask the symptoms.  Claustrophobia is something called a...

After the Dance

"I mean, look at this," Samuel gestured at the empty parking lot with his burger.  There wasn't much to see: just cracked asphalt interspersed with bare trees ranging to the darkness.  The muggy air smelled of dust and exhaust. "At what?" "All this!"  This time, the arc of his burger spanned the entire lot.  "Our ancestors would be proud." I gave the lot a second pass, trying to work out which one of us was too drunk to understand.  A few soda cups loitered by the handicapped parking. The bare trees stretched their skeletal shadows into the gloom.  Past the veil of night, a raccoon's eyes flared green before it scurried about its business.  Noting nothing pride worthy, I settled on a more pertinent question "Yo, is there any wine left?" "Lemme check," Samuel took a swig, grimaced, and spat on the curb.  "Yeah, plenty." "Give it here."  I accepted the bottle and took a long pull. "Like, we'v...