On the early morning Paul left for Denver, I was floating in a shell of flesh. My arms and legs were at rest on my left side, wrapped in a cloth-like sack that is not stitched nor restraining. It was a blanket, not a sack; yet it was warm and full of vivid green. The stillness of the atmosphere allowed me to perceive it, to taste its oxygen, nitrogen, and whatever else was in air. Then I closed my eyes. I realized that these two eyes inside my head were sore from the night before, and their lids seem to slowly close as if the edges were rusted. I tried to drift back to sleep, but all that came to me were more spontaneous recollections as my consciousness rebuilt myself. A back molar on the top left side of my hurts like hell whenever I bite down. I am pale and getting fat. My red beard is growing so long that the whiskers pull at my face whenever I lay down. There's an ingrown toenail on the inside edge of my left big toe. Life as it should be was. Read more here.