“Rethink the indecently-tight-and-therefore-uncomfortable-for-a-long-night jeans, and we may be on to something.”“Uh ... Donna, did we pack thos... deep maroon leather pants?” Abby said.“Lemme check...” Donna disappeared into the suitcases. “Yes! Yes we did!”“Those work, Master?” Abby asked, coming over to stand behind him, her hands working over his shoulders.“Yeah ... yeah, those are pretty comfortable.”“Oh boy,” Donna said. “Master-soaked leather pants, gonna be peeled off here, later this. But why? Why are the things that seem to manifest out of nowhere in my reality tied to the horrors of my dreams? Drifting back toward a sleep deprived unconsciousness, my last thought was I’ll be sure to call someone for professional help in the morning. Surely someone might be able to tell me if I’m losing my mind and possibly existing in periods of fugue states. He’s chasing me again. I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck warning me of danger. I’m running through Union Park in Des. More

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