The dream was different today. The helix spun me back into the dream, but when I reached the spot in Weehawken where Hamilton was shot, there was no sign of the Lenapes or of Hamilton or of Burr, except for the stain of Hamilton's blood in the grass. I reached down and touched it with my finger. It was wet still, and painted my finger red. I was alone, though I thought I heard laughter faintly in the distance. Today I dreamed my life was turned upside down. Nothing seemed as it had the day before, all of my confidence had deserted me. The city looked so peaceful as the sun started to cast long shadows. I knew it was cold in the caverns of the city. But the peace of the city stood in stark contrast to the turbulence within me. I felt a sense of dread, but could not understand why. Yes, I do hear laughter, I thought. But where was it coming from? Behind me? Below me? Both? I couldn't be sure. The madness of the city was within me today. I had taken it through the tunnel and left the city in peace. The sunset was breathtakingly beautiful tonight. I couldn't reconcile the peace around me and the madness within me. It began to get colder. I heard more laughter, carried on the wind that now swept all around me. I became very cold and felt scared. I climbed back in my car and slowly eased my way onto the turnpike. I couldn't tell if I was awake or asleep anymore and felt worried. I called my friend Warren in Berkeley. We had been playing phone tag for over a week. He answered and I immediately felt better. He told me that he had resigned from his job and would be leaving California for New Zealand with his wife and two daughters. I could not have been happier for him. He sounded at peace and excited for what was to come. After he hung up, my sense of unease returned. Was this still part of a dream? Or was I awake again? I thought about calling Warren back to see if we had really spoken. I thought better of it, and drove on home. I was happy for my friend, but worried for myself. I wanted to wake up.